


You Ain't Janice

by Theverticaldreamer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Dean, Bottom Dean, Cas loves Dean, Dean Loves Cas, Dean Whump, Dean Winchester Backstory, Dean in Panties, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Happy Ending, I'm evil, Jealous Dean, Love at First Sight, M/M, Masturbation, Mechanic Dean, Mental Health Issues, Not Beta Read, Pining Dean, Pizza Man Castiel, Poor Dean, Poor Janice, Recovery, Slow Build, Student Castiel, Top Castiel, and very sorry, he's had a bit of a hard time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theverticaldreamer/pseuds/Theverticaldreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's hungover as hell and just wants a pizza from his favourite takeout place to help him through it, but he doesn't want to leave his bed to answer the door when it arrives. He thinks he's found the answer to his problem when he adds this note to his online order:</p><p>‘I’m so hungover in bed . Let yourself in turn right go past the kitchen and up the stairs. Turn left and double doors r my bedroom . I’m in my undies watching James Bond. Don’t be alarmed . thanks Dean’ </p><p>Janice the delivery girl has seen Dean in all shades of hungover, so he doesn't care if she sees him wearing next-to-nothing once again. However, he wasn't expecting a beautiful, blue-eyed man to show up and complicate his life. </p><p>He wasn't expecting to fall in love with him either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long And Winding Road

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw a picture on Pinterest and I couldn't stop laughing at it, so I decided to use it as a prompt to write this story. http://themetapicture.com/let-yourself-in/  
> 

 

Dean Winchester loved his weekends.

He knew that, as a mechanic, he was pretty lucky that he didn’t have to work them that often. He’d been tinkering with cars at Bobby Singer’s garage when most other kids had been playing on their GameBoys, but then Dean’s childhood hadn’t been exactly normal.

He and his little brother Sammy had lost their mom in a horrific house fire when Dean was only four, then seven years later their dad died in a car crash. He’d been driving back from a bar in his beat-up truck, drunk as hell, when he’d swerved too hard on a bend and drove off a bridge.

Since they had no other living relatives, their close family friend Bobby became their legal guardian and moved them back to his place near Kansas City. Whilst he loved them like the sons he’d never had, the boys weren’t without their challenges. Sam had been understandably hurt, but he’d handled his grief by throwing himself into his schoolwork and clubs.

Dean, on the other hand, hadn’t handled it in such a healthy way. After his father’s death, he refused to speak.

He’d cried just the once, on the day he found out, but not since. He also didn’t go to school. All he could do was watch TV and sleep. After a couple of weeks of radio silence with both Bobby and Sam trying to bring him around, Bobby and a few social workers decided to put Dean through therapy, hoping it would break him out of his spell. Dean, however, had just endured each hour-long session with his mouth closed and his head full of anger. _I’m not crazy,_ Dean told himself repeatedly as he stared the therapist down. _I don’t need to be here. Therapy is for crazy people. I’m not crazy._

Things were worse at school. He’d just started middle school when the crash happened, had spent just two days there before taking a whole month off. The therapist decided that perhaps it would be better for Dean to return to school, where he would be around children of his own age to coax him out of his silence.

Instead of helping, returning to school had made him worse. Everyone at the school seemed to know about his father’s death. He could feel their eyes on him, heard the harsh whispers spoken behind his back. They talked about how his dad was just some stupid drunk with a death wish. How Dean was that weird orphan boy who couldn’t string two words together. Once they knew that Dean wouldn’t talk back, they no longer tried to conceal their gossip with whispers. These kids were stupider than Dean gave them credit for, because apparently they couldn’t tell the difference between a mute person and a deaf one.

Dean figured that, if he could survive both his parents being gone and an awful therapist, then he could survive school.

A week after his return, thing started to settle down. Dean wasn’t picked on, though he was never included in any activities with other kids. He became a bit of a loner, sitting by himself at lunch in the library with his sketchbook, doodling cars and writing down ghost stories, or reading books. He’d never been much of a reader, but the reading seats in the library were quiet and Dean desperately wanted to pass the time, so he picked up a book and hadn’t stopped since. He spent a lot of his time alone now, listening to the sounds of the world going on without him. He felt a kind of peace in the exclusion.

Two people who never made him feel excluded were Sammy and Bobby. In most ways, life at Bobby’s was a lot better than it had been with their dad. No more travelling across the country for his job, no long disappearances, no longer worrying about where their next meal was coming from. Yes, life was a lot easier now, but that only seemed to upset Dean more.

Deep down, he knew that he was being irrational. He also knew that Bobby, Sammy and even his damn therapist were only trying to help, but he was too confused by his own emotions to know how to simply deal with them. He’d always had to be the soldier, the caregiver, the constant in all the unstable, and now everything was inverted. At this point, Dean didn’t know how to deal with simply being.

 

It was four months after the incident when Bobby got desperate enough to try a new tactic.

“You’re coming with me to the garage on Saturday’s from now on, maybe even Sunday’s if you wanna,” Bobby told the now twelve-year-old Dean. “I need your help with somethin’.”

The last part had confused Dean – he was the one everyone said needed help. Nobody needed Dean now, not even Sammy, who was doing just fine without him with all his nerdy friends and stupid clubs.

Dean set his book aside and begrudgingly went with him.

It turned out that the ‘somethin’’ had been a beat-up, ancient Lincoln Continental that Dean was sure had been gold at some point in its life. Now it just looked dull and broken, with dots of rust littering the body, making it look like some crappy leopard pelt.

He looked up at Bobby with a confused look, waiting for an explanation.

“This,” Bobby said, patting the dirty bonnet, “is your ticket outta therapy, boy. You’re gonna help me restore her. She don’t start, the body’s a wreck, but you’re gonna clean her up real nice. There’s a surprise for you at the end, if you do.”

 _What’s the point of spending time and effort on something so broken?_ Dean thought.

It must have been clear on his face, for Bobby crouched down until he was eye-level with Dean. “Sometimes, kid, even the roughest gem deserves its chance to shine. Now just ‘cause you don’t speak, don’t mean that I know you ain’t bitchin’ about this whole deal up there,” he said, tapping Dean’s forehead. “So quit acting like you got your panties in a twist and let’s get to work.”

 

Bobby hauled his ass to the garage every weekend to fix the Lincoln. It had been a month since they started on it. As lame as the car was, the work was doing wonders for Dean’s head. He was feeling more grounded, his head less fuzzy. Plus, he was intrigued about the surprise that Bobby had planned for him.

Dean was holding a few tools for Bobby, watching and listening to him as he worked on the engine. Dean had wanted to do it by himself, but Bobby had been adamant on showing him. It wasn’t as if he was a complete newbie at fixing up motors. He had helped his dad out when he was working on his Chevy Impala, after all.

_Dad’s Impala –_

In his grief, Dean had forgotten about the Impala. He felt the tools he was holding hit his shoes.

He cried for the first time since the night his father died. Luckily, Bobby was there to hold him through it.

 

***

Things got a lot better after that. He started to speak again, much to everyone’s relief, and he got better the more time he spent on the car and with Sammy.

Dean finished restoring the Continental with Bobby one Saturday in May. The car itself would never be a great love of Dean’s, not like the Impala, but damn if he didn’t owe that car a thing or two.

They’d planned on selling the car once it was ready, and Dean felt incredibly proud that he was helping Bobby out in some small way, that his hard work and skills would mean something. Perhaps he wasn’t so useless after all.

“Great job, son,” he said to Dean as he checked the car over, a big smile plastered on his face. “Well, I suppose you’ve earnt your surprise. Hold out your hand.”

Dean did as he was told. Bobby reached into his inside jacket pocket and placed something in his palm.

It was a key he’d recognize anywhere.

Dean tried hard to push back the tears he could feel threatening to brim over, but failed.

“Now, you’ve got a few years before you can drive that Impala, but I’m sure you know a thing or two about keeping a car in good shape, now don’t you son?”

 

***

 

He became friends with Charlie Bradbury, a new student with fiery red hair and a love of all things geeky, in 8th grade. He’d made a few more friends since, but the two were practically joined at the hip. Dean still spent his weekends working at the garage, but he looked forward to spending time with his new group of friends too. Gabriel was a prankster who ate a ridiculous amount of candy, wiggled his eyebrows too often and made Dean cringe at least once whenever they hung out. Jo was a headstrong blond chick who could kick anyone’s ass, and Benny was basically a Southern version of the BFG. They were an odd click, but they did just fine together.

He and Charlie understood each other on a whole other level, though. Dean was there when Charlie had confessed that she liked girls when they were fourteen, and she was there for Dean when he admitted that he liked both when he was sixteen.

His sexuality was something that had been troubling him for a long time. A year after the incident, when their bodies started changing and everyone was checking eachother out, Dean knew that something had gone wrong when he found himself getting hard as he watched the members of the football team change in the locker room. He couldn’t keep his eyes off their toned bodies, their sweaty skin, the raw masculinity of them. That night his dreams had been filled with flashes of naked male bodies, and he'd woken up to find that he'd come in his pants.

It had scared him so much that the next day he walked up to Lisa Braeden and asked her out. It had been fine with Lisa, he liked her a lot, and they’d spent a couple of months together before things naturally fizzled out. Soon after they broke up, she began dating Matt. Dean wondered why he felt relieved when he found out.

He knew his friends wouldn’t give a shit about who he liked, but he was terrified of what Bobby and Sammy would think.

Telling Charlie had given him a surge of confidence. He had to tell his family. He couldn’t hide something like this from them anymore, couldn’t let this fear stop him from accepting himself. So, he planned to tell them at the end of dinner one week.

Dean wasn’t sure how he hadn’t had a heart attack sitting through that meal, eating as slowly as he could to delay the whole thing. He couldn’t avoid the inevitable, though. As soon as they were done, he rose from his chair and spoke up.

“Guys, I’ve got something to tell you. Something big, and real important to me. So, here I go." He took a deep breath. "Bobby, Sammy, I’m bisexual.”

He hadn't known what to expect, but their reactions certainly hadn't been on his list. 

Bobby and Sam stared at Dean for just a moment before Bobby whirled on Sam.

“HAH! I win, Samuel! Pay up boy,” Bobby demanded, a huge grin stretching his face.

Sam groaned into his hands. “Dean, you couldn’t have stayed in the closet for another five months? Now I have to do the washing up. Every night. _For two months._ ”

"Your loss, my gain. Thanks Dean, you sure helped me out. Now why you lookin' at us like we sprouted horns? Go and get that damn pie outta the oven before it burns."

Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed so hard that he had to sit back down again. 

 

***

 

Dean took his first journal with him when he took his driver’s test. When he passed, he picked up Sammy from school and took them out for a long drive. They listened to the purr of the Impala's engine, the wind whipping through the open windows. Hotel California was playing softly in-between the two.

At some point Sammy picked up Dean’s journal. After Dean’s silent nod, Sam opened the book and began to read Dean’s stories.

 

***

 

Weekends had given Dean his life – and his sanity – back. As soon as he left school, he threw himself into working at the garage. In the fours years that he started full-time, he was now not only an accomplished mechanic, but also on his way to becoming a classic car restoration expert. People came in from all over to book their cars in, hoping that Dean and Bobby could fix them up.

Whenever a car came that looked too beat to consider repairing, he’d picture that old Lincoln Continental and tell himself to shut up and get working.

When Dean turned 21, Bobby changed his hours.

“You don’t need to work weekends no more, son. Most of your jobs now are restorations, which you can do in the quiet periods. They just take up space at the weekends. Besides, you haven’t had your weekends in years. Now go have some fun before I kick you out the door.”

At first, Dean wasn’t sold on the idea. He’d spent so long dependent on them, knowing that he was stable because he had the weekends at the garage to keep him going.

It wasn’t as though he’d have nothing to do. While Benny had moved to a different state for college and visited once in a while, the others were still there.

Fun, for Dean, had turned into spending Saturdays watching movies with Sammy or Charlie, writing up a few of his stories, sketching, reading, baking or finding new places to eat at.

Nights, however, meant drinking with his friends at Jo’s mom’s bar, The Roadhouse. Sometimes it’d just be a casual get-together, and other times it ended with them all getting ridiculously drunk, doing random shit and flirting with strangers.

Of course he’d slept with people, of both sexes, and it’d been great. He knew he was pretty easy on the eyes (and incredibly modest to boot), so getting some action wouldn’t be hard, but for Dean it wasn’t on the agenda. Perhaps it would have been, in another life; perhaps finding a new body to fuck every other night would be how he dealt with his demons. Instead, in this life, he wanted something more with someone he gave a damn about, but a real relationship hadn’t happened yet. It wasn’t without lack of want; there were some days where Dean thought of little else, where the yearning to find _his_ person made him feel sick with longing. Recently it had gotten so bad that he’d even taken to skipping romantic parts of his TV shows when alone, or casting his eyes away when he had company.

Of course, Dean would never admit to having those kind of chick-flick panics out loud. Hell, he was barely comfortable with the idea rattling off inside his own head, let alone admitting to someone that he was probably going to die alone surrounded by beer cans and pizza boxes.

Sometimes, when he was at The Roadhouse and there was enough alcohol in his blood to feel pleasantly buzzed, he would fold back to the habits of the broken child he used to be and watch the lives of strangers form and crack and start all over again. Whole lives played out in this bar, and nobody ever took the time to sit back and watch them go.

He’d sit, drink his beer and write ghost stories in his head.

 


	2. Panties and Pizzas

So, whether he was using them as a rock or making up for lost time, weekends had always been his thing, his long-term love.

But all relationships have their bad points. This Saturday in September was already proving to be a real bitch.

“Jesus Christ…” Dean muttered to himself, pressing his face into the pillow to try and block out sound and light.

Last night had been a bad one.

They’d started early that day because Gabriel was back after helping his cousin to move into his new dorm at the local university. He’d even helped the guy get a job and pick up an old car. Their group hadn't met up for a few weeks, and Charlie had demanded a get-together to catch up. Dean knew that it was only a cover story, though.

The day before last had marked eleven years since his dad died. Dean always spent the anniversary alone with Sam, taking the Impala out for a ride and listening to his favourite cassette tapes, but his friends always made sure to spend the following day with him, even if it was never said out loud.

Dean had been quiet, downing drink after drink whilst listening to Gabriel chat away over how happy he was that his ‘little cuz’ was living nearby.

“Cassie’s one of those annoying little fuckers who just so happens to be good at everything he does,” Gabriel said, taking a swig of beer. “The guy’s a champion swimmer, he's bilingual, his mom was a dancer and taught Cassie all her tricks, so put him on a dancefloor and he's Gene Kelly. He’s also aced every test he ever sat, was so smart that they let him skip a year in high school, now Cassie’s riding a full scholarship at Kansas to do a masters. And, to top it all off, that bastard is so good-looking that it makes you wanna puke. Not that he gives a damn about that, poor kid’s brain has been ruined from being home schooled for the first twelve years of his life, so at least that’s something.”

“So, when do we get to meet him?” Jo asked, smiling around the rim of her glass.  

“You miserable lot get to meet him when he’s finished having his paddy. And I also know you Joanna, and I can say now that unless you’ve got a dick under that dress, he ain’t interested.”

Dean had gone still. So what if Gabriel had made out that his nearly-perfect cousin was gay? It’s not like the guy would ever be interested in him, or vice versa. He stared down at the stained tabletop.

“Ugh. Well, at least one of us might get lucky!” she said, turning to wink at Dean.

“No way, Jo. The guy’s related to Gabriel, there has to be something wrong with him.”

“Hey!”

“But what if you married him, Dean? You’d be officially related to Gabe!” Jo sounded a little too excited.

“You want me to barf in my drink Jo?”

“Aw come on Dean, they’re only teasing you,” Charlie said. “Anyway, sounds like someone’s a little jealous of their beloved cousin,” Charlie snickered.

“Oh, just you wait Princess. I’ve got something planned for dearest Cassie. Poor boy’s not gonna know what hit him. Anyway, let’s stop talking about him before we give Deano here a stroke.”

“Bite me, Twinkle Toes.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so pretty, Freckles, otherwise I’d have to show your face how twinkly my toes can be.”

“Dude, you really need to work on your comebacks. That blew.”

“You know what really blows? There’s alcohol to be consumed, and we’re still here insulting each other. Moving along!”

It wasn’t until Gabriel and Charlie had gotten so wasted and tried to steal a karaoke machine that they’d had to leave. Everything was a horrible blur after that. Dean wasn’t sure how he got home, but home he was at.

Slowly, as if his brain were made of liquid and he was trying not to spill any of it out his ears, he rose to sit on the side of his bed. His eyesight was still returning, but he could feel that he only had a pair of boxers on. God bless Charlie for having the foresight to remove his jeans and shirt.

He went to relieve himself, then drank some water from the tap before returning to bed.

Dean, now that he had moved around a bit, was starving. He knew that there wouldn’t be anything in his kitchen – he’d moved out into his own house around six months ago and, whilst he loved cooking in his kitchen, he hadn’t been to the shops in a while. Both Sammy and Bobby were busy today, so there was no family for Dean to call to help with his self-induced pain.

Instead, Dean’s favourite pizza takeaway place, Paul’s Pizzas, would come to his rescue.

He wasn’t sure if he felt human enough to actually speak to another person on a phone, so he decided to play it safe and order online. He grabbed his laptop from where he stuffed it in his bedside drawer.

“Laptop, you better not be dead.”

Luckily for the laptop, it had plenty of charge left. Dean rested it on his chest and opened the screen.

“Ugh!” he groaned. Dean was pretty sure that the light from the laptop had burnt his corneas off. Face pinched tight, he dimmed the brightness of the screen to regain his eyesight before typing in the name of the pizza website and setting out to order his usual.

“I am never drinking again,” he said as he added a bag of mozzarella sticks to the basket. “Stupid ass alcohol. Can’t just not friggin’ kill me in the mornings every now and then.” He threw in a tub of ice cream too, because he needed _comfort food damnit_.

Dean had made it to the checkout page before he realised the only flaw in his beautiful plan.

He’d have to get up to answer the door.

Dean was about to moan about this very first-world problem when his eye caught the comments box. _I can leave them a message!_

Grinning, Dean set about typing into the little box.  

 

_‘I’m so hungover in bed . Let yourself in turn right go past the kitchen and up the stairs. Turn left and double doors r my bedroom . I’m in my undies watching James Bond. Don’t be alarmed . thanks Dean’_

 

He paid for his food, closed his laptop, then turned his TV on. He’d recorded _Goldfinger_ ages ago and had never got around to watching it, so he tucked himself in and watched Sean Connery move around the screen while he waited.

The staff all knew him by name at Paul’s. Janice, their delivery girl, had been delivering pizzas to Dean’s door for a couple of years now. There were always a few delivery people on shift at the joint, though for some reason it was usually Janice who ended up knocking on his door, who had to deal with Dean’s hangover shit. Maybe Janice had done something real bad in a previous life, or maybe God was testing her. To Dean, though, she was his knight in shining blue and red uniform, yielding pizza boxes that held the key to Dean’s heart.

She had seen Dean in all shades of unflattering. He was probably ‘that’ customer that every store seemed to have, the regular weirdo who workers tell their friends about, the ones who make you feel a bit better about your own life. One meeting in particular stood out to Dean.

About a year ago, Dean had woken up from the mightiest of all hangovers. It had been his birthday and Charlie had taken care of him for most of the night, making sure he got home in one piece. As soon as he had woken up, he called the pizza place to get his food. Dean had then collapsed before summoning the strength to go downstairs and get his pizza when he heard a knock on the door.

What Dean had forgotten in his barely human state was that he wasn’t wearing his pyjamas, or even a pair of boxers. Dean opened the door, realizing too late that he was wearing nothing except a pair of lacy, practically see-through pink knickers.

Janice’s brown eyes looked down. They hardened, suddenly too old and weary set in her young face. They screamed, _‘Janice has seen some shit. Janice is not paid enough to deal with this. Janice is out’_. Janice had given Dean his pizza, held her hand out for the cash, then left without a word.

“Thanks, Jan,” Dean said anyway, using the large pizza box as a makeshift shield to hide his junk.

“It’s Janice,” she said firmly before getting in her car and driving away. Dean closed the door before resting against it for a minute or two.

Dean remembered. Charlie had gotten Dean the knickers as part of his 21st birthday present. A few months ago prior to that point, he’d been drunk and confessed to her that the thought of wearing panties was a huge turn-on. He couldn’t stop thinking about how they would feel against his skin, how they would look on him. So Charlie, being the little Fairy Godmother that she is, had granted his wish. As soon as Charlie had deposited him in his bed, he’d stripped off every inch of clothing before sliding the panties on. He remembered grinding his lace-covered cock against his palm, giving himself over to the intoxicating feel of fabric against flesh before coming harder than he ever had before.  

Dean hadn't been brave enough to remove the pizza box for a few minutes, to look down and feel more humiliated. He’d just have to tip Janice extra next time. Maybe even give her car a free service. Or some therapy.

Dean came out of his thoughts when heard the door opening downstairs.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Pizza time.”

Dean was still feeling pretty crappy, so he’d only managed to sit up and yawn before he heard Janice walking in.

“Thanks Janice, you are an angel,” Dean started, wiping a hand over his face. He was putting on his best ‘I know I’m a piece of shit but thanks for the food’ smile to try and make up for the fact that Janice was once again seeing him practically naked, when he opened his eyes.

Perhaps Dean had fallen back asleep. This was either an incredibly wonderful dream, or a shiny new entry to add to his personal ‘Top 5 worst things to have ever happened to you ever’ record.

There was a beautiful man standing at the bottom of his bed holding a pizza box and a plastic bag. Actually, beautiful might not even cover it.

He was slightly smaller than Dean in both height and build, but his body was lean and toned and gorgeously tan against his black shirt and tight jeans. His dark hair was a mess, like he’d just crawled out of bed after a sex marathon. His jaw was covered in a fine dusting of stubble, and his eyes–

The damned fucker had the best fucking eyes Dean had ever seen. Did that blue even exist in the real world? It was like one of those colours that only shrimps could see or something. How were those eyes even possible? And was he Elizabeth Hurley’s secret love child, or did everyone walk around with impossibly long, dark eyelashes too?

Dean was thanking his lucky stars that he’d had the sense to pull his duvet over his lap, or else this whole scene would have turned into the world’s most awkward porno.

“Hello, you must be Dean Winchester. I’m the new delivery boy, Castiel. I assume from your note that it was fine for me to come up here?”

_Castiel._

If his dick was interested before, it was standing to full attention now. Jesus, that voice was sin incarnate. Did he gargle whisky and nails twice a day? It was like the rumble of some rare classic car that Dean hadn’t ever heard of. Dean imagined what that voice would sound like giving him orders, pushing him down hard into a mattress and groaning as he took him apart –

“You ain’t Janice.” _Please brain come on please reboot –_

“Evidently not,” he said, the corners of his plush mouth twitching.

“Um.” Dean had forgotten the art of communication.

Castiel’s head moved to take in the bedroom, leaning his weight from one foot to the other. “Janice was unable to take this delivery. Are you okay? You seem a little...”

“I’m fine! Really, really fine. Well. I got a crackin’ headache, but yeah.”

“Oh. Are you sick? You should drink something. You’re probably dehydrated.”

_Sure am baby, ‘cause I’m thirsty for you, Cas. Dear Lord I’ve already given you a nickname, one syllable, much easier to pronounce, perfect for crying out over and over again as you –_

“I’m fine, dude. Just got a bad hangover. It’s like, as soon as you hit twenty-one, they just get worse, you know?” Dean tried to laugh, but it came out all wrong.

Cas tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Dean. “I wouldn't know, I’m afraid. I’m not much of a drinker. Thanks for the warning, though.”

Dean’s laugh was a bit more natural this time.

“No sweat. But I gotta ask. What, erm, what happened to Janice? Not that I want her, because I want you. To have a job! I mean. Not that you’ll be replacing her either. Are you?”

_Oh dear God._

“I’ve come in her place, as I said before. It was very strange. We were at the establishment when Janice was given your order, said ‘I can’t deal with that again,’ before handing it over to me and asked me to go in her place. Can I ask, do you usually wait for Janice in your underwear? Because this would explain a lot.”

“ _Dude,_ I know what you're thinking and it definitely ain't that. I’m not whipping my tackle out to poor girls or anything like some fucked up pervert. It’s just that I usually end up ordering pizza when I’ve had a rough night, and maybe Janice has been cursed or somethin’ because she always delivers here when I’m too tired and ill and is she hated at your job to always get me or something?”

Cas gave Dean a toothy grin. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ve not been there for very long, only a few days actually, so I don’t know all the ins-and-outs, but I was… told about you early on.”  
  
Well, that confirmed Dean’s theory. “You were told about me.”

“Yes. Just that you were a dedicated customer of Paul’s Pizzas, you’re friendly to the staff and always treat them well when you service their cars, and sometimes you scar employees when you answer the door to them in your underwear.”  
  
If it were possible, Dean’s head felt even worse. Like it had hit an iceberg and bits of flesh and bone were sinking to his stomach. “Uh… wow. Okay.” _I think I need to reevaluate my life._

A crease formed between his brows. “Are you sure you’re okay? Want me to get you a glass of water or something?”

“Yes!” This guy was smart as well as heartbreakingly gorgeous. “Please. You’re right, I’m very sick. Not feeling myself at all. I’m sorry.”  
  
Cas laughed. Dean almost swooned. _Almost_.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go and fetch you a glass now. Want me to put your order on your bedside table?”

 _Oh shit._ He’d totally forgotten about his order and had made the guy stand there just holding it. Could this day get any worse?  
  
“Yeah, sorry, that’d be great, thanks man.”

Cas walked towards Dean and he was so close now, close enough to _smell_ and the warm, earthy, spicy scent of him filled Dean’s nostrils. It was heady, like the tingling in your blood before a storm, charged from the ozone in the air – raw and powerful.

Cas’s gemstone eyes flicked back to his own green ones. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small smile, before walking out of the room.

Dean took in a gulp of air. He had to get himself together.

Instead of thinking about what just happened and sending himself into a panic, Dean decided to just sit tight and do some breathing until Cas returned with a glass of water for him. He didn’t move from the side of Dean’s bed.

He downed half of it before wiping his mouth with his hand. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Cas?”

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit –_

“Sorry man, Castiel was kind of a mouthful. I’m too sick to be dealing with any name longer than three letters right now.”

“That’s okay, I like it.” _He likes the nickname I gave him! When’s the wedding?_ “So your own name is out of the question, then?”

Dean gave a dark chuckle. “Hell if my name’s important.”

Cas frowned. “Your name is incredibly important, Dean Winchester. You seem like a good man. Please be kind to yourself.”

_What. The. Fuck._

“Do they give all the new pizza boy’s life-coach training?” he joked as an attempt to dislodge this huge, dangerous feeling that was inflating in his chest.

“Oh yes. We make it our mission to deliver hot, cheese-covered dough circles and simultaneously boost your self-confidence. It’s all part of the service.”

Was it possible to fall in love at first sight? Was this really happening to him? 

Cas sniffed. “I hope you don’t mind, Dean, but I really must get going. I only hopped out for Janice, I need to drive back and pick up some other orders.” He held out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Slowly, as if moving through water, Dean took Cas’s hand in his and gave it a shake. He tried not to notice the strength in that grip, or how large his hand was, or how it would feel to have both of them clenching around Dean’s hips –

“It was great to meet you too, man. And I’m sorry about, well, me being a state. You definitely earned some brownie points.”  
  
“I wasn’t aware that there was a badge available to those who delivered fast food to men in their beds.”

“Well, ain’t you the lucky one?”

Cas laughed as me made to exit the room. He stopped in the doorway, turning his head to look at Dean again.

“I don’t know if you are aware, but you have lots of words written on your body.”

Did he? “Do I?”

Cas was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat. “Well,” he began, “there’s one sentence on your left shoulder that says, ‘Hella gay and wants to play’. Another, this time in the centre of your chest says, ‘Dean heart pie for eva’, whilst someone else underneath that has written, ‘Yeah, cream pie!’. Then there’s one along your ribs which says ‘hot mess’, and lower down on your stomach there’s an arrow that points to your nether regions with ‘blue’ written at the top –”

Dean had never wanted to disappear more than he had now.

“Okay, yeah, thanks man. Probably shouldn’t have asked. My asshole friends have some explaining to do. Haha. Well, thanks, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

Those cerulean eyes locked with his for an indistinguishable amount of time before Cas spoke. “Yes. I certainly hope so.” Then he turned to leave.

Dean, like the creeper he was, raced to the window overlooking the front garden as soon as he heard his front door close, desperate for another chance to look at Cas before he left.

He drove off in a gold Lincoln Continental.


	3. Toga Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking forever to write the next chapter of this fic! Work has been super stressy. Anyway, if you're here for more cringe-worthy moments involving Dean, you've come to the right place. Poor lad.

It had been a hard decision to move out of Bobby’s house. Dean had always been at his brother’s side. Had been there for Sam to cook his meals, patch him up, read his bedtime stories, forge John’s signature on his report cards – Dean had done it all to give Sam as much ‘normal’ as he could, even if it meant sacrificing any sort of childhood for himself. He was so damn proud of Sammy, though, and he couldn’t regret anything.  

And hell, Dean missed the guy. Six months of living away from home, from Sammy and Bobby and the old creaky house with its permanent motor oil scent, had left Dean yearning for those comfortable snippets of home. The achy feeling in his chest hadn’t quite left yet, but it was faint now, like pressing on an old bruise now and then just to feel it pulse. It helped that Sammy came over almost every other day to have dinner and watch TV with Dean, or even just to sit at his table and get on with some homework using Dean’s superior internet speed. It had been made clear to Dean that he was welcome to go back home at any time he liked, but they knew he wouldn’t. Dean wanted his own place because he was an independent, stubborn bastard who wanted to prove to everyone (and himself) that he could do this. That he’d made enough money to actually live like the adult he'd had to be for years, because it was miles away from the nothingness he’d imagined for himself all those years ago.

At this moment in time, though, Dean was so fucking grateful that he lived by himself so Sam or Bobby wouldn’t walk in to see him staring through the window, half-hard in a pair of tatty boxers with his mouth hanging open. The only thing worse would be having to explain why.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there watching that patch of road where Cas had driven off in Dean’s old pimpmobile, but he knew it had been longer than he’d ever admit to anyone, including himself. Unsettled by the thought, he shivered and returned to his bedroom.

The ice cream was just about salvageable, so he picked it up, walked into the kitchen and put it in the freezer to harden back up. He grabbed a bottle of coke from the fridge and walked back to his room, settling back into his bed to eat lukewarm pizza and watch more James Bond. He very deliberately kept his mind free of angel-faced, blue-eyed boys and their ridiculous, destiny-shit cars. Dean would allow himself the luxury to think about it later, have a panic attack or two, then reach for a bottle of the good stuff to make it all better.  
  
  
***

  
After James Bond had finished and there had been no distractions on offer, the whole encounter with Cas came flooding back and left him reeling. Because surely this whole thing hadn’t just happened. Surely the same car that helped fix his head as a kid couldn’t now belong to this beautiful person. The only person that Dean had met and instantly fallen hard for.

Groaning in frustration, Dean pulled the covers over his head and blindly searched for the lube before reaching for his cock, which was straining painfully against his underwear. Dean started to stroke himself slowly, but it wasn’t enough. His dick was _throbbing_ and his arse was aching. He turned over onto his hands and knees, lubed up his fingers, and started to bury them inside his hole. He groaned at the burn – it was what he needed, but he wished there was _more._ He wanted to have a pair of soaking panties roughly pushed down to his thighs, a firm, tanned body pressed against his back, pushing him into the mattress with the force of his thrusts, wanted to hear that growl of a voice whisper dirty things into his ear while perfect teeth teased him, wanted those beautiful hands biting into the flesh of his hips–

He came within minutes, three fingers thrusting inside his hole, his other hand pumping his cock fast, crying out Cas’s name. Dean lay there for a few minutes afterwards, shocked by the force of his orgasm, before removing his boxers and wiping the cum off his skin. He stumbled into the bathroom and got under the spray of the shower, letting himself focus on the force of the water and not on the fact that he’d been reduced to a needy little bottom after just one encounter with Cas. He was too turned on to be concerned about it. 

 

***

 

Charlie called him and asked to come by a couple of hours later so they could watch Buffy together, though Dean knew that she probably just wanted to check up on him. He at least had the decency to throw on a pair of pants and leave the pitiful den of his room in an attempt to regain some dignity (which was fairly unlikely anyway) before Charlie’s arrival, and was just looking at his phone on the couch when he heard her secret knock on tap against the door. He yelled at her to come in.

Dean had always been a proud pessimist, the ‘never expect nice things to happen so you don’t get down when they don’t work out’ kind of guy. Being in that mindset, he sure as hell didn’t believe in love at first sight and all that crap. Lust at first sight was a given (and the ache in his groin and arse backed him up with his feelings about Castiel on that one), but love?

Surely lust didn’t make you want to sigh like a goddamn maiden over stupid little grins. Didn’t leave you wondering what Cas would order from a coffee shop; would be be a plain Americano guy, or a macchiato snob? Lust didn’t leave you imagining how slim hands would feel held within your own years from now. Some thoughts were far too scary to even let himself process, too full of want to dare.

No, those were domestic fallacies.

He couldn’t get that damn smile out of his head. Couldn’t shake the image of that toned body leaning down to sit in that old car. What did Cas think of the car? Did he like how it was basically a house on wheels? Did he like how it felt to drive, all slow and smooth on the road? Dean was suddenly wishing he could call Castiel and offer him a free service on the car, because there was a good chance that nobody had properly worked on it since Bobby and him took care of it all those years ago and what if there was no oil in it, or if a bolt was loose in the engine, or what if–

“Earth to Dean! Wassup, Winchester?” Charlie flopped down next to him, unintentionally pulling him out of his crisis. He still felt incredibly unsettled, though. Perhaps he should order another pizza and add a comment in the box to let Cas know–  
  
“Hey man, talk to me. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“He wasn’t a ghost, Charlie. I’m pretty sure he was an angel.”

Charlie froze, her eyes going comically wide. “Wait, who? What are you talking about?”

“Not just an angel but, like, an angel of sexiness. And pizza. A fast food sex angel.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure that there aren’t any of those in the Bible, Dean.”

“A friggin’ sex angel disguised as a pizza delivery boy came into my house and I blew it, Charlie. The whole thing was a mess, and pretty sure my pants are too.”

Charlie shuffled closer, leaning next to Dean’s head with her elbow. “Come now, tell your Auntie Charlie everything.”

Dean told her everything.

 

***

 

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Yeah, but. _Wow_ , Dean. You’ve raised the bar. How are any of us ever going to be able to match that humiliating little encounter?”

“Unless you get caught having a lesbian threeway in a graveyard by the Pope himself, I’m not sure there’s anything you can do to top that. Oh shit, Charlie, he was so _beautiful_ and I just sat there willing my mouth to shut up and praying to God that I didn’t fall to my knees in front of him.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a fantastic little porno.”

“Huh, see, at the time I thought it was the start of a crappy one. But the whole thing was a hundred times better, and worse, than any porno I’ve ever watched.”

 

***

 

Dean had wanted to stay in the next day and ‘forget’ to buy himself dinner so he’d be forced to order in another pizza, but Charlie and Gabriel dragged him back to The Roadhouse for a few drinks. Dean whined the whole way there. Who the hell went out on Sunday nights anyway? There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world that would tempt Dean away from the promise of Cas, but he was also terrified of Charlie when she got that determined look in her eye, so he settled for ordering one tomorrow.

“So tell me, Dean. What does your pretty pizza boy look like?”

Gabriel was hiding a shit-eating grin behind his glass. Dean could tell by how crinkled his eyes were.

He sighed. “Pretty.”

“Come on! We need more than that to get off on – I mean, oops! Go off on.”

Charlie snorted. “Well we know he has, what did you say again, Dean? Dark, messy sex hair, golden body, captivating blue eyes–”

“Ooh! This is good, Charlie. Tell me more.”

“Don’t you dare–”

“And then you told me about his adorable little side-smile, and then you went on about his hands. Like, dude, I don’t think I’m old enough to have heard about the things you want him to do to you–”

“I told you this in confidence, Charlie! You’re just feeding the troll.”

In all honesty, Dean wasn’t too fussed. In some warped way, he was happy that Charlie was this excited over Dean’s crush. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to her about anyone like this, so it was understandable that she’d want to let it out. But with Gabriel, the notorious trickster? Dean had a real bad feeling about his.

Speaking of which, Gabriel had put down his beer and was studying Charlie with a fake-serious face. “The troll also takes sweets, cakes and other diabetes-inducing goods. But back to you, Charlie. You make some very interesting points. Exactly what was Dean referring to when he told you about this pizza guy’s hands?”

Dean buried his face in his own.

Charlie knew he’d had enough. “Look Gabe, Dean’s feeling a little sensitive about the whole incident yesterday. All I can say is, I’d need the guy to use a serious amount of soap before I accepted a handshake from him.”

Dean groaned.

“You know, when I –” Dean froze. “I just–” He froze again. “Jesus, what’s wrong with me! He’s not even here and I’m… I’m…”

“Breaking up like a walkie-talkie running out of batteries? Relax, Deano. I’m sure loverboy doesn’t give a shit. Hell, he might even find you cute. Someone has to.”

“Bite me, asshole.” Dean rolled his shoulders. “And I ain’t cute.”

“Aw, why did widdle Dean say that?” Jo said from behind him. “Hey guys!” Everyone said hi back.

Jo had been running late, but Dean wished she’d been a little later after dropping into the booth next to Dean and pinching his cheek. He rolled his eyes.

“Nice to see you too, Grandma.”

“Ouch, you’re in a pleasant mood. I guessed I missed most of the Pizza Guy convo?”

Gabriel nodded sadly. “It was amazing. I’m so sorry you had to miss it. He stuttered and everything.”

“Wow.”

Dean rolled his eyes again.

Charlie spoke up next. “Get those eyes out from the back of your head, sunshine. Of course you’re cute. Have you ever seen you? You look like you were genetically modified in a lab by Doctor Frank N Furter’s Ken doll-obsessed twin brother.”

Gabriel inhaled his drink, then proceeded to drop the glass out of his hand and almost fall out the booth from the force of his choke/laugh. Charlie went to help him while Jo just sat there laughing, though Dean would have probably killed him if that drink wasn’t currently doing his job for him.

“Oh-my-GOD!” Gabriel managed to get out, coughing in-between each word. “That’s the best analogy ever, Charlie.” He turned to look at Charlie, how was patting his back. “You win.”

“Yes!” she squeaked. “Do I get a reward?”

“How about I let you buy me another beer, seeing as this one is now everywhere except in my stomach?”

“How about no.”

“How about you all go home so I can get some peace and quiet?” Dean challenged.

“And leave you to wallow in self-pity? Sorry, but that show’s too good to pass up,” Jo said. Charlie sat back in her own seat. “Look, you’re even cute when you’re all grumpy. You’re probably the reason why someone entered ‘Cinnamon Roll’ into Urban Dictionary.”

“And we both know who’d love to take a bite out of that little pastry, right Jo?”

“Oh yes, Gabe. Pizza Guy and Cinnamon Roll Boy: a match made in foodie heaven."

“Will your wedding be at a Wendy’s?” Charlie asked.

“No, but your funeral’s gonna be at a Hooters.”

“Ooh, perfect. Ghost-Me can’t wait.”

“What about me?” Gabriel piped up.

“Dude, we’re just gonna let Willy Wonka have his way with you.”

Gabriel reached for a coaster and dramatically started to fan himself. “Don’t get my hopes up like that, Charlie. That’s almost as cruel as talking about Dean’s uncomely boner with Mr Pizza. And when I say ‘uncomely' I do mean–”

“Yeah yeah, shut up Gabriel,” Dean interrupted. “Okay, you three have successfully managed to traumatise me enough this evening. I’m gonna bill you all for my therapy. Now, can we please change the subject?”

Gabriel nodded. “Sure. Let’s talk about how your little brother is nice and legal and super hot now, shall we Dean?” He wiggled his eyebrows. The girls made gagging noises.

Dean wasn’t doing much better. He pushed down the bile that had risen in his throat. “Oh second thoughts, I really wanted to tell you about the stubble on his perfectly sculpted jaw.”

“Now we’re talking, Deano.”

"He's basically just Leonardo da Vinci's wet dream."

 

***

 

Dean arrived home from work the next day, having ‘forgotten’ to buy dinner as planned. He’d been jumpy the whole afternoon, so on-edge that even Bobby had noticed.

“You got your panties in a twist or somethin’, Dean?”  
  
_No, but_ God _I wish my panties were getting twisted. And ripped off._

“Nah Bobby. Just feeling tired. There’s a, uh, cold going around.”

Bobby eyed him skeptically. “First I’ve heard of a cold goin’ round.”

“Yeah, well it hasn’t been here very long. It’s new in town, looking to make some new friends.”  
  
“Mm. Well, good luck with that. Just don’t let your new pal distract you from attaching an exhaust pipe to a windscreen or anything.”

Bobby walked away and Dean sighed, readjusting himself in his boxers for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

The day had been slow, but now he was home, he found his laptop from where he’d left it on the sofa and went about ordering another pizza.

He was nervous about seeing Cas again, but he was downright terrified of ordering a pizza only to have it be delivered by Janice.

There was nothing else for it – Dean would have to write another questionable request in the comments box.

 

_‘I just got back from work n forgot food . Please let urself in again, am in living room, left at front door on the sofa in pain, looking like one of those French Girls . Car spat oil all over me and I pulled some muscles. Clothes r in wash so am just in my undies again . Have sheet wrapped around me like toga watching GoT. Please dont b alarmed. Thanks Dean .’_

 

Pleased with how pathetic he sounded, Dean sent the message and scrambled to his room to throw his relatively clean clothes on the floor, wrap himself in a sheet and go back downstairs to watch Game of Thrones.

He was now so excited to see Cas again that he mostly didn’t care about how pitiful and lonely he must be making himself out to be with these notes. He lay down on the sofa, French Girl-style as promised.

This time, he was determined to make more of an effort to seduce the guy.

 

***

 

Dean sucked in a breath when he heard the door open. He heard the footsteps getting closer. He closed his eyes and swallowed. _Just do it_ , he told himself.

“Well hey, Cas. I’m not hungover this time but I’d still like you to take care of me, because you were so good last time–”

Dean sat up and opened his eyes to see Sammy staring at him like he just sprouted five heads.

“Shit! Fuck, _fuck,_ why don’t I just look at the people before I start talking to them? Like, who even does that? Oh yeah, _me!”_

“Uh, Dean?” Sam asked, his hand tightening on his bag strap. “Care to explain what’s going on? Because it looks like you’re waiting for someone to come and ‘take care of you’ while wearing a toga.” Sam winced. “If you’re, uh, expecting a… worker of the night–”  
  
This couldn’t be happening to Dean. “What the hell, Sam? A ‘worker of the night’? Can’t say prostitute like a normal person? Or whore?” Sam went slightly green. “But, just wanna clear something up – I’m not waiting for a prostitute! I’m waiting for the pizza guy!”

Sam looked lost. “The pizza guy? You’re waiting for _the pizza guy?_ Is that code for something?”  
  
“No! I just wanted a pizza, so I ordered one!”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here.”

Dean was starting to wonder who the hell he’d pissed off to warrant this kind of humiliation.

Dean turned slowly to find Castiel underneath the archway, wearing that goddamn half-smirk and tight, black outfit. His skin looked even more stunning in the lamplight, like molten gold. Dean felt his knees go weak.

“So, you’re the pizza guy,” Sam said slowly, looking at the pizza box in Cas’s hands.

“Definitely a pizza guy, and not a prostitute.” Cas lifted the lid of the box to show Sam that it was definitely filled with pizza and not – God forbid – sex toys.

Dean was wondering if he could quickly text Bobby what he wanted on his gravestone because he was sure he was gonna die right now.

“Um. Yeah. So if you could ignore my little brother, Cas, I will give you a big tip to make up for it.”  
  
Cas gave him one of his full smiles, blue eyes sparkling as he looked at Dean for a moment without speaking. Dean was hoping that Cas was gazing upon him with adoration and not dying of laughter inside over how much of a human disaster he was. He’d put all his money on the latter.

“There’s no need, Dean. No tip could live up to the amusement that I get from delivering pizza to you. Janice is finally happy that there’s someone at Paul’s Pizzas who is willing to deliver you food without being bribed.”

Sam threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh man! Poor Janice. I bet she loves you.”

Castiel frowned. “You know Janice too?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t think she minds me, but Dean’s always been unlucky when it comes to deliveries, so all I’m saying is: prepare yourself, Cas. It's only going to get worse.”

Dean loved his brother, he really did, but he knew that any judge would let him off fratricide if they saw what was going on right now.

Cas was supposed to be _his._ Sammy wasn’t supposed to be here, earning his smiles and getting his attention. Dean wanted his eyes on _his_ partially covered body, wanted to see the way he held his body as he talked with _Dean_.

Life sucked.

“Okay, Sammy. Why don’t you take the pizza into the kitchen and go grab a couple of plates and I'll meet you in there?”

Sam gave Dean a knowing smirk. He approached Cas, who gave him the pizza, and offered his hand. Cas took it.

_No don’t shake my brother’s hand! They’re supposed to touch ME!_

“It was great meeting you, Cas. I’m sure I’ll see you again for another episode of ‘Whoops I’m Dean Winchester’.”

Cas chuckled. “Likewise, Sam. I look forward to my recurring guest role in this…” Cas trailed off and looked at Dean, holding his eyes. “Interesting series.”

Dean’s throat went dry. He needed a drink, and badly.

Sam nodded and headed towards the kitchen. Dean absolutely ignored the bitch face that he knew was being directed at him.

Cas, now with nothing in his hands, crossed his arms. Dean liked how defined they made his biceps look.

“I, uh, don’t want to weird you out man, but I guess being here with a dude dressed in a makeshift toga is probably beyond weird anyway so I’m just gonna say it.”

A smug look passed Cas’s face before he controlled it again. “Oh yes? And what would that be?” He stepped closer to Dean until he was close enough to reach out and touch.  
  
Dean took in a deep breath and focused on getting his words out. “That car you got out there. The Lincoln Continental?”

Cas blinked at Dean and tilted his head, surprised now etched into his features. Apparently, talking about his car had been the last thing he’d expected. “Er, yes? What about it?”

“Well, that very same car is the first one I ever fully restored. I'm a mechanic, you see. I was twelve when I fixed her up. I was going through a bad time and that car really helped me clear my head.”

For the first time since Dean first laid eyes on him, Castiel looked shocked. “Wow, Dean. You restored that car when you were a child?”

“Well, me and my Uncle Bobby – who adopted me – did.” The shock fell away from Cas’s face, only to be replaced with a look of understanding and sorrow. Dean kinda wished he’d go back to the smirking. “So, because I’m kinda attached to that moving skyscraper and because I’ve been a really weird customer, I’d like to give your car a free service at Singer’s Autos.”  _And give you a free service or sixty if you wanted me to._

Cas gave Dean a gentle smile, one that softened his whole face. It was Dean’s favourite so far.

“Dean, that’s very kind of you but it’s way too much–”  
  
“How about we just agree that you come see me whenever you’re free and we go from there?”

Cas looked like he wanted to argue more, but he huffed out a laugh and shook his head instead. “Okay Dean, if you insist. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Dean’s stomach swooped. “No problem, man. Well, guess I better go find my little brother before he eats the whole damn pizza.”

Cas nodded. “Then you’d better hurry. You were my last stop, but I have to go and collect some new orders now. It was good to see you again Dean. I’ll come find you at the garage.”

_Hell yeah! Can’t wait, baby._

“Sweet.” Dean walked him to the door. “Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean stood looking at his closed door after Cas left but, unlike last time, only did so for a few moments before he found Sam in the kitchen, who could barely control himself.

“So, Dean. You’ve been keeping things from me. What the hell did you do when you first met him?”

Dean gave up. He sat down, grabbed a slice, and proceeded to tell Sam the story.

 

***

 

After telling Sam and dealing with his teasing, Sam decided to steer the conversation in a direction that Dean was far too immature to deal with.

“Dean, if you like this guy that much, why don’t you just ask him out when he comes into the shop for his maintenance check?”

“Because if I ask him out, that means that I’ll have to ask him out, which I am too chickenshit to do.”  
  
Sam sat back and crossed his arms. “Dean, you deserve happiness more than anyone. And I think he likes you too, you know. You need to do something, you can’t just order pizza for the rest of your life. Think about how fat you’d get.”

Dean didn’t want to admit it, but Sam was right. Of course he was right, he was one of those sensitive intellectual types, the ones who would eventually meet this partner through a fancy social group or some shit, then hanging out together before quietly confessing their feelings to one another. Dean, on the other hand, was just gonna wing it with near-naked meetings and a love of fast food to win his guy over.

 _Nice plan, but you are not rich enough to buy a $17 pizza every night,_ his brain unhelpfully supplied.

_But you’re old enough to take out a loan. That way, you can buy all the friggin’ pizza you want. You could see Cas every day!_

The less rational part of his head was making a lot of sense.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam said through a mouthful of food.

“What, Sammy?”

“You were talking about a loan just now.”

Damn, had he been? “Talking?”

“Well, mumbling, really. You okay?”

“Fine, man. Real good. Peachy, even.”

Sam blinked at Dean before swallowing his food slowly. “You know. You can tell me, if you’re in some kind of… trouble.”

_Aw hell._

“Sammy." He put his slice of pizza down. "Tonight, you thought that I had hired a prostitute. Please don’t add 'in dire financial difficulty' to the list too. I was just having a fantasy moment to myself. I, saw this, er, real neat. Car. Online, yeah? So, thought about getting a loan to buy it. Yeah.”

Sam had stopped chewing and raised an eyebrow at Dean.

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah…”

Sammy ended up staying longer than he planned, so he headed off to the guest room where he kept a small stash of his things for occasions like these.

Dean went to bed, had another mind-blowing but still unsatisfying wank, then went to sleep with thoughts of Cas dancing around in his head.  


	4. Tease

Sam, being the little snitch that he was, had told Jo all about Dean’s embarrassing, scantily clad show last night before he’d swiftly left the house in the morning. And Jo being Jo had told Gabriel who told Charlie who called Dean after he finished work that day, laughing so hard down the phone that Dean had to put her on loudspeaker to save his eardrum from bursting.

“Dear Lord, Dean. I can imagine it in my head. You probably looked less like a sexy Roman and more a bad The Little Mermaid cosplay. Specifically, the scene where Ariel gets her legs and wraps herself up in that old sail.”

“Does that make you the annoying red crab who’s always giving her his unwanted, crappy opinions regarding her life choices?”

“Come on, Dean! I’m being serious. What on _earth_ were you thinking?!”

Now that he’d had a day to think on his actions, Dean came to the conclusion that last night had probably been a mistake. And by ‘probably’ he meant that it was one of those events where, eight years from now, he’ll be in bed when suddenly he’ll remember that he waited for his crush in a sheet on the sofa and he’ll be so crushed by the humiliation that he’ll just lay there in despair, unable to sleep. Or whatever.

Dean would just have to come to terms with it, but not without a fight.

“I was thinking that I lied pretty badly in the comments box and had to make it look like I didn’t actually have any clean clothes, but I didn’t want Cas to see me in my underwear like that. Again. And it’s _cold_ , Charlie,” he added lamely.

“So you thought a toga was a suitable loungewear option? And your dressing gown wouldn’t do because…?”

“Because all my clothes were in the fake wash! I had to toga it up to keep up with the lie.”

“Togas are never a good idea unless you’re going to a college house party where there’ll be other kids in DIY togas so you don’t look ridiculous.”

“Can we please stop saying toga? I feel like we’re re-enacting that toga scene from Animal House.”

He could hear Charlie huffing down the other end of the phone. “Winchester, I swear, sometimes you can be so damn stupid. Do you really think that Cas is going to think that you really had _no_ wearable clothes left in your house? At all? You’re not a cartoon character, you actually own more than one outfit.”

“And I would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for your meddling, kid.”

“Stop making me smile when I’m being serious. Don’t you get that most people, if faced with the situation of wearing old clothes in front of their crush versus greeting them like a horny little burrito, most would take the first option?”

Dean didn’t like where she was going with this.

“So I’m a bad liar. Shoot me.”

“Oh no, Dean. You are pretty much the best liar I’ve ever met. Remember when you managed to convince that dude at the bar that you were an undercover FBI agent and got a free drink out of it?”

Dean laughed. “Oh yeah! Man, that guy was such an idiot.”

“Bad liars can’t do that. No, you’re a brilliant actor, but you keep on forgetting your lines around him, dude. Imagine that your life is a movie, okay? Right now, the only footage they’re getting is stuff for the bloopers.” She let out a long breath. “Dean, you obviously really like this guy. But you gotta take your game to another, less soul-destroying level if you ever want to mean anything more to him than a loser with a tendency for nudism.”

Dean knew that, as far as first impressions went, he had pretty much blown it with Cas. What was the point in trying to act a little more normal around him now? He voiced his concerns to Charlie.

“Winchester, I am going to say this without sarcasm, so understand how hard this is for me. You are the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. Sure, you get yourself in more… questionable situations than most other people, but that makes you interesting. You’re great story fodder. From what you and Sam–” Dean made a noise of disgust at the mention of his traitor brother's name, “– told me, I think Cas really likes you. But if you can show him that you are capable of wearing clothes and eating food that’s not pizza, then who knows? He might end up delivering you something very special indeed.”

Dean laughed. “That was awful.”

‘But you love me for it.”

“Yeah, I kinda do.” He ran his free hand through his hair and closed his eyes. “Okay, Cupid. How do I fix this?”

“Well, he accepted your free car service, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Awesome. I’ll be over in 30 minutes. And we are _not_ ordering any pizzas.”

 

***

 

Dean, rather reluctantly, made a curry for dinner that night. Dean loved curry, but the curry didn’t come with his favourite pizza pin-up boy, so it was rather a waste in his opinion.

Charlie sat at the table with her laptop, busy typing away and only taking short breaks to spoon food into her mouth. Dean watched her, not really focussing on his meal, with rapidly increasing curiosity.

“Dude, what are you working on that’s more important than my curry?”

She looked up and smirked at him. “You know that most stores now upload the staff rotas online? Many of them are attached to the back-end of the website so employees can log in and see when they’re working. It’s a failsafe way for their staff to access their working times so the store can blame them if they miss a shift. Luckily for Paul’s Pizzas, they also have an online rota, and guess who just got access to it?”

“No way!” Dean put down his fork and rushed over to Charlie, bending down and leaning over her shoulder to look at the screen.

“Yes way!” She held her hand up and they high-five’d.

“I can’t believe you managed to get in.”

“What can I say? I’m just your typical, convenient hacker from every Hollywood blockbuster you can think of, but way hotter. Now, let’s see when Cas works so your heart doesn’t break if you get Janice instead.”

Paul’s Pizzas had a whole month’s worth of rotas up, though unfortunately Cas' days weren’t set in stone. Dean could see that if he’d ordered a pizza tonight it wouldn’t have been Cas at his door. He’d have to apologise to his curry.

“Right, here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re not going to order any more pizza until your little slice of heaven comes into the garage.” Dean groaned at the pun. “You want my help? You deal with my fabulous play on words. Anyway – as I was saying – he comes in, you give the car its tune-up and keep Cas there with you. That way, he can see how much of a capable adult you are in your working environment, plus he’ll get to see how skilled you are with your hands.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. “This sound so easy. I just want to get to know him, Charlie. But I’m scared I’m gonna muck it up before I even get that chance.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow at him. “Stop beating yourself down so much. Ever heard of the self-fulfilling prophecy?”

“Yeah, I’m not a total idiot.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Oh honey, haven’t you heard? Everyone’s a fool for love.”

 

***

 

Cas didn’t show at the garage on Wednesday.

Dean had been a bundle of nerves the entire day, half excited and half terrified at the thought of seeing him at the shop. Dean was worried that he’d end up dropping something important if he caught Cas wearing one of those little smiles on his handsome face. Dean tried to focus on the old Porsche he was currently working on, but he was failing. Instead, he decided to play it safe and focus on the bodywork of the car.

He was also terrified of how Bobby would react to how Dean would react around Cas. The old man was sharp as a tack, and he was bound to notice how Dean would no doubt be a melted puddle of goo on the workshop floor after their encounter. Dean was just glad that his jumpsuit was particularly baggy around the crotch area. The thought of explaining any boners to Bobby made him want to douse himself with gas and light himself on fire.

He kept on having to tell himself that he was a professional and that Castiel would be coming to him as a customer. He couldn’t afford to muck it up due to his feelings.

Dean wasn’t usually so good at all this emotional stuff. A few years ago, he would have never admitted to having a crush on anyone. Dean had felt too uncomfortable with another person knowing something so personal about him, like they were a gun and confessing would just be providing them with free ammo.

His feelings towards Cas made him different, though. He trusted his friends and family enough to let them know how he was feeling, even if it still made him anxious. Dean found that talking about Cas helped to relieve some of the tension he was holding – he had never felt such an instant connection with someone before, and it was new and exciting and also completely nerve wrecking. He knew he had mucked up, and it was a comfort to let people help (or insult) him.

 

***

 

Dean drove to Charlie’s house after work. They’d have movie nights at Charlie’s place a couple of times a month because she had the biggest TV and the best sound system, so it made sense to take advantage of it.

Tonight Gabe, Jo and Dean were piled on her couch and chairs, eating Chinese take-out and watching _Raiders Of The Lost Ark_ . Dean had a sneaking suspicion that they’d picked the film for his sake, to try and make him feel better _._ Dean was also aware that Gabriel had sat down next to him, putting him on high alert for any of his mischief.

Seeing Harrison Ford in action never failed to make Dean happy. The only way this night would be complete would be if he were curled up on the sofa with Cas. Dean slipped into a daydream, imagining Cas and himself as a couple months from now, where the initial awkwardness would be over and they would just be blissed out and comfortable with each other. Dean craved that domestic familiarity so much that he could cry. Instead, he just stuffed his face with noodles to try and fill the void.

They’d managed to watch the film and chat casually for around an hour before Gabriel asked the inevitable.

“So Deano! Had anymore run-ins with your little Patron Saint of Pizzas recently?”

Dean hesitated to answer, noticing that everyone was looking at him now. “You mean since Monday night?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, hands flying over his mouth. “Silly me, how could I _possibly_ forget about your little toga stunt? I mean, it must have slipped my mind because it wasn’t hilarious _at all_ , and I haven’t been constantly thinking about how much of a twit you are because everyone dresses up as Romans when waiting for Italian foods, no? I mean, it makes sense to dress in stereotypical clothes for the culture you’ll be dining for. We should have all worn one of those long silk shirts with dragons on and stuff tonight,” he said, looking dejectedly at his sweater.

“Alright you sarcastic little shit. I get it. It was a pretty dumb move. Let’s all learn from it and move on.”

 _“Pretty dumb?”_ Gabriel repeated. “Oh no, you’re not getting let off the hook that easy. I’m too cruel for that. But pretty dumb? Dean, that time Joanna here put a foil-wrapped brownie in the microwave and blew it up was pretty dumb. When Charlie accidentally left her erotic fanfic open at school and got caught by the librarian – that was pretty dumb. It’s even been said in the legends that I may have done one or two pretty dumb things. I mean other than the tall, leggy people that I take home and–”

Charlie whacked a pillow in his face. “In your dreams, you horny Hobbit.”

“Don’t be so sizeist, CharChar! I definitely expected you to be the most politically correct one out of us all. Shame on you. Now where was I? Oh yes. Dean.” He turned around to face Dean again, a horrible little smile forming on his face. “So, as you can gather, it’s just human nature to do pretty dumb things occasionally. But that little stunt with Castiel?” He was shaking, tears forming in his eyes from the silent laughter. “Oh. My. God. That wasn’t just dumb, Ken Doll. I don’t even know if there’s a word to describe what that was. Half of me wants to bang my head against a wall and weep for your moronic soul. The other half of me wants to dress up in a toga with you and take you to Vegas or some shit.”

“Well if you’re offering…” he tried.

Gabriel wiped his eyes. “I don’t know, with your luck you might find yourself married to Perez Hilton or something else completely awful. No. You, my friend, are a legend. After all, nobody said that a legend had to be smart. I mean look at Cronus, that dude mistook a rock for a baby. You, on the other hand, confused an Ann Summers outfit with the bedding section from IKEA.”

Everyone was in fits now, the film completely forgotten. Jo’s mascara was running down her face and Charlie was desperately trying to breathe. Dean mashed his lips together in an attempt to not join in with them, despite how much he wanted to. He had to try and salvage his pride here.  

“Aw Dean. I love you, Buddy,” Gabe finally said after he and everyone else had calmed down.

“Please don’t.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think Cas really likes that you’re a bit of a pillock. He’s definitely got his moons on your pizza pie.”

Dean saw that Charlie wearing a frown after Gabriel spoke. It made Dean feel like he was missing out on something.

“How’d you know that? You an expert on Castiel’s feelings now or something?” he challenged.

Gabriel froze, his eyes widening. His eyes flickered towards Jo so fast that Dean wasn’t sure if it had happened or not. Jo was also looking a little sheepish. Gabe recovered with a comeback pretty quickly.

“Because what’s not to like about a pretty guy acting like a ditz? It’s totally adorable. Isn’t it why being a bit of a spanner is like the number one trait of most girls in those young adult fiction books? Trust me, Dean. Don’t worry about him not liking you.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. Gabriel was obviously lying, though Dean wasn’t sure why. Charlie was still looking at Gabe with suspicion in her eyes. Dean almost laughed – he felt sorry for anyone who got caught in her line of fire.

“Do you know what Castiel does apart from being a pizza delivery guy?” Jo asked suddenly, pulling her blanket over her shoulders.

That was an excellent point as well as an excellent distraction. Apart from delivering pizzas, Dean had no idea what Cas did.

“No, I don’t, actually. Crap.”

“You mean you’ve not even Googled him?”

Dean frowned. “No. Isn’t that kinda creepy?”

“Nah, just go for it. And don’t worry about it anyway. He’s coming to your garage this week, right? You can just ask him then.”

“He said he would, but I don’t know. He’s had three days to come, four if he’d tried to come in on Sunday, but then Bobby would have told me if he did.”

“He might be a student,” Gabriel supplied. “And he _might_ have had a load of classes for the first three days of this week which he couldn’t miss because his lecturer is a complete bag of dicks, but who knows?”

“Apparently more than us,” Charlie said. “Like, for example, how you know that he’s a student?”

“I just have a way of knowing these things. Like, what sane person would willingly work as a delivery driver for a pizza establishment if they weren’t a student? Losers, that’s who. And _apparently_ this guy is too beautiful and smart to resort to delivering pizzas for the rest of his life, so he’s gotta be a student. Or an undercover celebrity, like some weird homoerotic spin-off of _Hannah Montana._ ”

Dean knew that he was missing something here, but most of Gabriel’s points had been good.

“Okay Sherlock,” Dean said. “You’re probably right, but why don’t you let me find out for myself? Now, Charlie, would you be a dear and please rewind the last fifteen minutes or so of this movie? Because I was being bullied and I want my fifteen minutes of Harrison Ford in a non-creepy fedora back to make me feel better.”

Charlie looked away from Gabriel and gave Dean a short but true smile. “Of course, dearest.”

Dean arrived back home just over an hour later. He knew that he should probably go to bed, but he was feeling too wired.

He went upstairs to change out of his clothes. He paused for a second before removing his underwear and slipping on the pair of pink panties. It was going to be one of those nights.

He threw on a loose pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt too before going back downstairs. He ended up working on one of his stories for around an hour before turning on his PlayStation and settling down into the corner of his couch with an afghan.

It was time to blow a load of zombie brains out, then afterwards he was gonna blow his brains out while thinking of Cas. 

***

Dean hadn’t meant to fall asleep while playing the game, but when he woke up peacefully and naturally instead of to the annoying beeping of his alarm, he panicked. He fished his phone out from his sweatpants and, sure enough, there was only twenty minutes until he had to be in.

“Shit shit shit I am gonna be so late!” he said to himself as he ran upstairs, threw on some new trousers, grabbed his wallet, keys and phone charger, dashed back downstairs to get his boots and coat on before leaving the house and driving to work in a panic.

Somehow, Dean arrived only a couple of minutes past nine, which wasn’t enough for Bobby to come out and clock him ‘round the ears, but Dean had never been late. In fact, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been at least twenty minutes early for work.

“Well look who decided to show up,” Bobby said, humour in his voice. He looked far too happy for a Thursday morning. He walked over to Dean and handed him a mug of coffee. “Think you might need this.”

“Yeah, I really do, thanks Uncle Bobby.”

“Uh-huh. And I gotta say, you look like shit, kid.”

“Um. Cheers.” He shook off his coat and rubbed his eyes. 

“Hope that you still ain’t got this cold that was apparently goin’ round earlier this week.”

Dean took a huge gulp of too-hot coffee. “Nah, just had a bad night.”

The twinkle in Bobby’s eyes left, taking on a more concerned look.

“You sure you’re feeling okay, son? If you need to go home, just say. Think you’re more than entitled to a day off; can’t remember the last time you used a sick day.”

Dean definitely didn’t want to go home, not if there was even the slightest chance that Castiel would be coming here later.

“Good. Because there’s some kid out back called _Cas-teel_ or something who said that you offered him a free service on a Lincoln Continental. A Lincoln Continental that, if I’m not mistaken, is the same one I had you fix up. Now tell me.” He removed the cup from Dean’s hands, only just noticing that they were shaking.

“Did you offer a free service for that beat-up tin can because you’ve gone all sentimental on it, or was it because of the car’s owner?”

 _Well shit,_ Dean thought. There was no point lying to him.

“Okay. I do like him. Like, really like him. But I did a couple’ve really stupid things, Bobby, and I’m trying to make up for it and show him that I’m capable of functioning as a normal human being.”

Bobby’s eyebrows shot up. “Well. Wasn’t expecting you to be so honest, kid. Whatcha do?”

This part, Dean didn’t want to admit to. “You mean Sammy hasn’t told you a thing?”

“No, boy’s been pretty quiet. Why, should he have said something?”

Bless Sam. “No, and I’ll tell you later, I promise, but I suppose I better go meet him.” Dean took in a huge breath. He could do this.

He let that breath out.

_Oh god I can’t do this I shouldn’t even be allowed to speak why am I such a freak he’s here and I’m never going to be ready because I’m always going to be an idiot –”_

“Dean? Dean!” Bobby shouted, hands gripping his shoulders.

Dean opened his eyes and loosened his fists. His coffee had been hastily put on a nearby counter and its contents were sloshed around the base.

“Jezz Dean, it’s okay. Just, breathe or something. You ain’t passing out on my shop floor. I can’t be arsed to fill out one of them accident forms.”

Dean took a minute, closing his eyes and forcing his breathing to return to normal. Being aware of the act of breathing always left Dean feeling a little weird. His hands were still trembling slightly, so he crossed his arms to hide them.

One he felt more in control, he spoke up. “Sorry Bobby. Dunno what that was.”

Bobby frowned. “That was you on the verge of a panic attack. Did that boy out there do something to you, Dean? Do you need me to scare him off with the shotgun?”

Dean spluttered. “ _No!_ Jesus no, Bobby. He’s fine. Please don’t make him leave. I’m just being an idiot.”

“Boy, if I know one thing about you is that you ain’t an idiot. Now, you take a minute to calm down, I’ll go talk to Mr Pretentiously Named out there and tell him that you’ll be by in two ticks. Kapish?”

Dean nodded, swallowing around the dryness in his mouth. “Yeah. Okay.”

Bobby gave him one last look before turning walking off. Dean grabbed the mug and downed its remaining contents. He sat down and leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head between his knees.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Get your shit together,” he whispered.

After what felt like a couple of minutes, Dean sat up, grabbed his tool bag and made his way out back to meet Cas, his stomach in knots. He was kinda glad that he hadn’t eaten anything yet.

Cas came into Dean’s line of sight before Cas himself had the chance to see him. Dean stopped in his tracks.

This was the first time he’d ever had the opportunity to just look at Cas without being subjected to those intense blue eyes, without feeling his brain going kamikaze on itself.

He was leaning against the side of his car looking at his phone. Today, the black clothes had been swapped for a white shirt, dark blue tie and well-fitted trousers. He was pretty sure that Cas had dressed this way just to give him a nosebleed.

Dean let out an involuntary sigh. Cas looked like he belonged here, somehow fitting in amongst the old cars, dirt roads and too warm, oil-slicked air of the yard. Dean’s traitorous mind imagined that this was Cas coming to pick him up after work, waiting for Dean while he finished a few bits here and there.

Dean wanted nothing more than to walk up to him, wrap him up in a hug and never let him go. But that would have to wait. Hell, he didn’t even know if Cas liked him back, or if he was gay. He’d probably be terrified of Dean’s sudden, overly keen interest in him. Dean pushed down the negative thoughts and continued walking towards him.

“Cas! Hey, buddy. Good to see you.”

Cas whipped his head up to look at Dean, a full smile blooming on his face. He pocketed his phone and held out his hand for Dean. He shook it, wondering how long a polite handshake between acquaintances was supposed to last and finding that he didn’t care because Cas' eyes were so _blue_ out in the sunshine. Dean never wanted to look away from him.

“Hello to you too, Dean. May I say, as nice as it is to see you with clothes on this time, I do miss that toga.”

Dean was about to shit out his stomach. “Yeah, about that. I’m really sorry, Cas. I just wanted to–”

“You don’t have to apologize, Dean,” Cas said earnestly. He looked down to their hands, which were stilled joined, and removed his. Dean spotted a very faint blush color his cheeks, but that could just be the weather, right? It was a pretty hot morning, after all.

“No, I feel like I should explain. I’ve been a bit of an idiot. I guess after years of being the weirdo customer, I’ve not really given that much consideration to –”

“No, Dean, you don’t understand –”

“– I’m actually capable of wearing clothes, as you can see, and I even ate some fruit, er, yesterday, so my diet’s not a total train wreck –”

“– That’s really good Dean, but I’m not your nutritionist, I don’t deliver pizza just to scrutinize your diet –”

“– The toga? I didn’t even think of wearing clothes from my old laundry basket! But I think a person has every right to wear a sheet in their own home if they want and it was surprisingly comfortable, you should give it a try, but I’m sorry all the same for –”

“You’re the highlight of my week!” Cas suddenly blurted. His eyes widened comically after he spoke, his full mouth hanging open.

Dean’s brain short-circuited. “What?”

Cas laughed, bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck. “You’ve been the highlight of my week, Dean. So far in my short time at Paul’s Pizzas, I’ve met some incredibly strange people, and I am definitely not talking about you. I’ve meet drunk students who tried to pay for their food by inviting me to join their game of Ring Of Fire, I’ve had wordless interactions with others who just take their pizzas and slam the doors in my face, I’ve had men and women try to get me to write their numbers on the box. There was even one couple who asked me if I was available to have a threesome with them.” Cas looked bemused at the memory of this. Dean felt a bolt of jealousy heat his blood.

“I’ve not even been there a month, and I’ve met so many people who just make me lose faith in humanity. But you?” Cas smiled up at Dean, almost looking _proud._ “You’re kind. And you make me laugh. You have a very bright soul, Dean Winchester.”

Well shit. What the hell was Dean supposed to say to that? What was the code here? Did this mean he liked Dean, even in a friend capacity? Charlie had never given him the chance to prepare for this scenario. He wasn’t trained for this.

Instead of falling into Cas like a swooning maiden, Dean decided to play it safe and turn it into a joke.

“Wow. Thanks, man. I’ve been worrying that I’d need to send you send you a rehab clinic or something.”

“Far from it,” Cas said quietly.

Dean needed to change this conversation before he had a coronary. “Well. Uh. Let’s take a look at your car. That’s the reason you came here, after all.”

Cas cleared his throat. “Right. Yes, the car.” He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. “Here you go, Dean. Thank you again for agreeing to take a look at it, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t come sooner. I was tied up with my work.”

Dean popped the bonnet and lifted the rod to secure it. Cas came round to stand next to him, watching his movements. This was the perfect opportunity to fnd out what he did. “Work? You got another job?” He set about checking the basics of the engine.

“No, not another job. I’m a student at the university. I’m studying for a masters degree.”

So Gabriel had been right – he was a student. A _post-grad_ student. Which meant that he was really smart, and way too good for Dean.

“That’s awesome, man! What’s it in?”

“World literature. I’m looking at the westernization of written pieces from different cultures. I study texts written in different languages and eras and see if any of its cultural meaning has been lost or not after they've been translated into English.”

Okay, officially too smart for Dean. “How’d you do that?” He spent far too long checking out the spark plugs.

“I read a series of texts in their original languages–”

“Wow, dude, you know _languages?_ Plural?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m fluent in Russian, German, French, Spanish and of course English. My father was Russian and my mother was French, and I picked up their affinity for languages. I’m currently trying to learn sign language. I’m fascinated by non-verbal communication methods.”

Just because Cas was way out of his league, it didn’t mean that his mind wasn’t free to conjure up delightful little scenes that included Cas fucking him hard against this car while muttering a stream of foreign words hotly into his ear.

Thank fuck his groin was currently blocked from view.

“Wow, alright, Babel. You’ll have to show me your nerdy, wordy ways sometime.”

Cas' eyes moved up and down Dean. “Oh, I’m sure I will.

Dean whipped his head back to the car’s engine. “So, you were saying about how you do your interpretation thing?”

Cas didn’t relent from his stare, pinning Dean with it. “Yes. I look at the politics of the time, then compare my findings to their English counterparts using writers such as Kafka.”

“That’s the guy who wrote that Metamorphosis story, right? That cockroach dude creeped me out for weeks. I hate bugs. And extended metaphors.”

Cas looked delighted. “You know Kafka?”

“Yeah, man. I like to read. The creepier the better, but my favorite author’s always gonna be Vonnegut.” He cleared his throat. “I read The Turn of The Screw when I was a teenager and it really did a number on me. I tried reading some of Stephen King’s stuff but that guy is overrated. A haunted killer car? Lame. But I guess those aren’t classed as world literature. Uh, I read some of Lu Xun’s stuff. Is that even how you pronounce his name? Anyway, I read A Madman’s Diary and it was so warped, I thought it was just gonna be about some guy losing his cool, not cannibalism and shit.”

“Do you read often?”

“Yeah, or at least I try to. Probably only get through one book every two weeks now, whereas a few years ago I’d bug the shit out of the librarian a few times a week. There are some books I really should re-read again. I think I’d understand them better now that I got some mileage on me.”

He hesitated with what he was about to say next, looking at Cas out of the corner of his eye to try and gauge his mood. He was still staring at Dean, but his gaze was softer now, almost affectionate, like Dean was something wonderful who did great things and not just some weirdo guy who wore togas. It gave Dean the confidence to continue.

“I went through some shit as a kid and I guess I just imprinted my emotions onto the book I was currently reading to try and get some meaning from it, to make sense of what I was going through at the time. I didn’t even think about when the story had been written or how different the culture was or anything.” Dean removed a tool from his bag and began testing some of the bolts. So far, the car seemed to be in good shape.

“Dean," Cas said, sounding a bit breathless. “You didn’t study literature, did you?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Hah! No. Ain’t got the brains for that, Cas.”

Cas frowned. “What? But you’re smart, Dean. You don’t see it?”

This was a topic of conversation that had been on a loop since forever. Dean had left school with surprisingly decent grades, and when Sammy found out that Dean wasn’t going to do a thing with them and jump straight into working at the garage, he’d been furious. Cross enough to ignore Dean for an entire week before he calmed down.

Dean guessed that between his time in the library, gaining a bunch of nerdy friends and working weekends at the garage had settled Dean. He’d always been quick at picking up new information, but he didn’t think that was a quality that made someone smart, necessarily.

To Dean, smart people were those who came up with ideas, who could make new things and who were emotionally intelligent, rather than just possessing a good memory.

“Not really, Cas. But you sure as hell are. You’re working on your degree and you know a bunch of languages, and you’re kind. Those are smart things. I’m sure if I knew you better I’d be able to tell you what else you were smart at.” Dean was absolutely not looking at Cas.

A silence stretched between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but it was filled with tension. Cas tried speaking a couple of times, but failed.

“Dean,” Cas said eventually, gently. “You restored this car when you were _twelve._ Don’t you know how incredible that is? And I do confess that I Googled you and this garage before I came here.”

Oh crap, he’d Googled Dean? What had he found?

“You’re a classic car restoration worker, Dean. I can’t even comprehend how you can do that.”

Dean felt himself blush, feeling the heat flare across his cheeks and down his throat. “Yeah, well, it’s nothing special, Cas. It’s just putting a bunch of stuff together or taking it away.”

What Dean hadn’t told Cas, or anyone for that matter, was that his dreams stretched beyond just restoring cars.

After he’d had his breakdown, Dean had kept on filling up journals with stories and illustrations, but it wasn’t until he was fourteen that he decided to buy himself a sketchbook. He’d taken out car manuals from the library and copied the sketches at first before sitting around the garage in his lunch break and drawing car parts. He also looked at conception art from movies and games and bought comics. It was after all this that he had started to design his own cars.

Nobody, not even Sammy or Charlie, knew that in Dean’s home office there were entire folders filled with designs. They knew about the stories, and every now and then they’d tell him that he should look at getting them published, but he’d just wave them off. He had no idea what they’d do if they found out about his other little hobby.

Dean was terrified of not being taken seriously, of everyone thinking that his ideas weren’t good enough, so once Dean had painstakingly designed a car, it was put away, only to be taken out to look at once every blue moon. He knew that his reputation of being a bit of a human disaster couldn’t quite line up with being some artistic douchebag. 

While his thoughts were whirring away in his head, Cas had been staring at him. Dean was too much of a wimp to see what emotions were playing across Cas’ face, because he knew that it would either make him want to drag Cas by his tie and kiss him until they couldn’t breathe, or have him running away in tears. He was doing his best to finish off looking at the car’s engine when he knocked one of his tools to the ground.

Sighing, Dean bent over to pick it up when he heard Cas gasp behind him.

It pulled Dean out of his misery enough to look at him. Cas was flushed bright red, eyes lingering around his waist. His eyes slowly came up to meet Dean’s.

“You okay there, Cas?” He asked.

Cas blinked a few times before nodding earnestly. “Yes! I’m fine, thank you Dean.” He quickly fished his phone out from his pocket, his eyes moving between the screen and Dean’s waist. “Actually, I need to go soon, I have a meeting at the university with my tutor I need to get back for. I know this is a free service and I am so grateful, but is it okay for me to drive in now?”

Dean was so confused. A minute ago he’d been happily trying to boost Dean’s ego, and now he had to leave suddenly? Dean was pretty sure that he hadn’t done anything to offend Cas. Hell, he hadn’t even embarrassed himself in front of Cas yet. He thought he had been on a roll.

“Yeah the car’s good, don’t worry about it. Your plugs need changing soon and it wouldn’t hurt for you to get an oil change, but at a glance it’s in much better condition than I thought it was going to be.”

“Great. I’ll call you later to arrange for it to come in again if that’s okay?”

“That’s fine. Here,” Dean said, reaching into his bag for a business card and a pen. He flipped it and wrote his personal number on the back. “Call me on my cell and I can get it booked in for you easier. If you call the front desk, I won’t be there to answer the phone and you won’t get your special discount.” Dean flashed Cas a smile.

Cas laughed. “Thank you, Dean. Really.”

Dean closed the bonnet and handed the keys back to Cas. “Take care of yourself and this city on wheels, okay? I’ll probably see you when I order another pizza.”

“And when will that be?”

Dean was about to blurt out Friday because he knew that was when Cas was working, but he decided to play it safe and pretend to be dumb. “I don’t know, when’s your next shift?”

The sudden nervousness that had enveloped Cas dissolved into the half-smirk, heat-fuelled stare guy from before, and Dean had to suppress a whimper.

Dean was going to have to go to the store and get a pregnancy test if this continued.

“Friday. I get off my shift at nine that evening.”  

Cas probably told him his finishing time so Dean wouldn’t order too late and miss him. It was not an offer for anything else. Definitely not that.

“Sweet. I’ll see you then.”

Cas’ smile was downright predatory now. He walked around Dean, lowering his eyes to Dean’s waist yet again, before opening the driver door. “Until then, Dean.” He got in and Dean stood there and watched him drive away.

Huffing out a laugh, Dean picked up his tool bag and went back into the shop before making a beeline for the toilets.

As soon as Dean looked at himself in the full-length mirror in there, he knew why Cas had been acting strange and looking at his waist.

Because he hadn’t been looking at his waist.

His shirt had ridden up. Cas had been looking at the fine, pink lace trim of his panties that were on display above his jeans.

What was the saying? These things always come in three’s?

Dean went over to the sink to wash his face and contemplated drowning himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story so far! I feel like it took me ages to write this chapter and I'm not 100% happy with it, but still. Any feedback would be very much appreciated! x


	5. Friendly Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter talks about mental health and therapy in the beginning, but there are plenty of banter times ahead. And also, I love reading your comments! They make my day. Thank you for giving me feedback on my story.

Dean would like to say that he didn’t give a flying fuck about what other people thought of him, but that would be a complete lie. In fact, Dean was terrified of his emotions. He felt like there were a thousand eyes glaring at his back at all times, judging him for every good feeling her ever had. Scrutinizing him for the love he felt for Sammy, Bobby and his friends, the intoxicating high he got from being around Cas, and even in contrast the sharp pain he associated with Mary and John.

It leaves him with an overwhelming need to act through on other people’s expectations of him. Makes him feel like a sidewalk, there just to be trodden on for the sole purpose of allowing other people to go places.

They were feelings that had been ingrained into him by his father after their mom died. At just four years old, Dean had suddenly been given the responsibilities of a parent – to protect Sammy above everything else, even though most of the time he felt completely defenceless. He hated that, as a child, he was told to take care of another child by the same man who brought them nothing but chaos.

Dean learnt to be a stable structure in an earthquake zone.

Although he had gotten through the rough patch of his early teens, Dean had decided to go back to therapy a year and a half ago. Although he was no longer mute and talked enough shit to fill a silo, there were still some occasions where he felt like he couldn’t talk at all, where the world narrowed into a tiny dot and he was trying to find his way out in a blind panic.

As Dean grew into an adult, the more aware he became about the shit he’d been through, which left him feeling strangely vulnerable.

During these times, Dean liked to write or draw, or do something with his hands to take his mind off things. But when the episodes got really bad, Dean would sit still for hours, reliving his own horror story. Chokes on the smell of his burning house, remembers the heat and the ash covering him as he shielded baby Sammy away from it. Remembers his father’s screams drowning into a fire engine’s siren.

Remembers how useless he felt as he stood on the lawn whilst his mother died, trapped inside their burning house.

His new therapist, Missouri, was completely different to the joke of a therapist he’d had as a child. She had made him feel like he was just some poor trailer trash kid to pity and coo over, while Missouri had a ‘take no survivors’ approach that Dean hadn’t realized he’d needed until it’d been dished out to him. She seemed to understand everything about Dean, every worry or repressed emotion, and helped Dean to come to terms with a lot of crap.

She also had no sympathies when it came to John.

“Psychotic relationships are hard, Dean,” she’d told him in one of their earlier sessions. “The abuser is the one who brings pain, but is also the only one who can bring the victim any relief. They teach you to crave approval from them, make you question everything you ever do. You see it everywhere,” she said, waving her hand around in a flippant motion. “Jealous boyfriends who call their partners fat, only to apologise later with food and tell them how much they love them. It’s an unhealthy way of tying that person to you, making you feel like you’ll never be good enough for anyone else, so you never leave them. Your daddy left you with his burdens and blamed you when they went wrong, only to praise you about something else later. Made you feel like you did good, like you made him proud, don’t it?”

Dean sat on the soft chair, stunned into silence. Nobody had ever gone this deep into their relationship. As sick as it made him feel, she was completely right.

“Abusers are bullies, and bullies cause others harm because they are insecure, plain and simple, Dean. It’s a no-win situation. Your father sounded incredibly unstable. He turned you into a scapegoat for his mistakes. That don’t make a man, boy. Just makes a coward.”

Missouri, after their first ‘getting to know you’ session, suggested that Dean try psychotherapy, a term which had him retreating back into his hole. The title sounded like it belonged to doctors working with major wackos ( _mentally ill people,_ Charlie corrected in his head), though this wasn’t the case. Psychotherapists, he learnt, delve into your past to help to you uncover the reasons for your issues, then when you’re ready, cognitive behavioral therapy is recommended to help you cope with them in the present.

Dean had started CBT sessions with Missouri a few months ago, and it had been going well up until Dean’s near panic attack just now. He had come so far, and he didn’t want to fall back into old ways.

After what he had already dubbed ‘Humiliating Panties Incident no.2’ (and pulling down his shirt so far below his hips that he was sure he tore a few seams), Dean had walked up to Bobby and asked to go home. He now recognised the need to take those ‘mental health’ days that Missouri had been badgering on about.

“Sure boy, go home. You ain’t looking so hot, you’re as white as a sheet. You sure that Castiel ain’t causing you trouble?”

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. “He ain’t causing trouble, Bobby. I do just fine getting into it myself. I did another stupid thing and I think if I don’t go home now I might barf all over one of the cars.”

Bobby sighed. “You really need to fill me in with what the hell is happening to you Dean, and I mean _soon._ But go home, rest up. Call me later ‘n tell me how you’re doing, okay? Or if you feel like you’re gonna go into a panic again, ring me straight away and I’ll come. I ain’t saying that to be polite.”

“Yessir,” Dean answered. “I know. Thanks Bobby.”

“No need to thank me. Want me to drive you back?”

Dean shook his head. “I’m okay, I’m just gonna ride slow, go to the store and pick up something with loads of fat and sugar in it before heading home and slobbing on the couch.”

“Attaboy. Well, what you still doing here, hanging around like a bad smell?”

Dean felt the corners of his mouth twitch and turned away, pretending that he hadn’t seen the worried glint in Bobby’s eyes.

Dean drove to the store and bought pie, ice cream, cinnamon swirls, Cinnamon Crunch, beer and ingredients for tacos, not caring one whit about his softening middle and _not_ thinking about Cas’ obviously toned one, because thinking about Cas made Dean want to curl on the floor and never get up again.

His meeting with Cas had been going so well.

Why, why oh why had Dean put his panties on that night? Why had he slept in so late and not changed them in his blind panic?

Surely their last encounter would have finally proven to Cas, once and for all, that Dean was just some pervert who liked to tinker with both cars, and himself. Dean felt like an idiot for deluding himself into thinking that he had even the smallest chance of getting with Castiel, that somehow giving the guy a free service on his car would lead to other opportunities to get to know him other until he confessed his feelings and they had their big gay fairytale ending.

Dean got home, packed his stuff away, then ran straight upstairs to change his underwear, flinging the knickers across his bedroom. He’d deal with them later.

Downstairs, he grabbed his ice cream and returned to the nest he’d made in the lounge. He put on an episode of Firefly and sat there, trying to eat, though after a few spoonfuls he felt sick. Disgusted with himself, he put the ice cream back in the freezer and returned to wallow in self pity on the couch.

 

***

 

After an hour of sitting around feeling like a social pariah, Dean’s mood had only worsened. He knew that he had to break it now before it had the chance to fully blossom.

Dean reached for his phone and rang Missouri.

“Dean Winchester,” Missouri answered on the second ring, warmth in her tone. “I was expecting a call from you. What do you want, boy?”

“Who says I want anything other than to have your sweet dulcet tones caress my ear?”

“Yeah yeah, put a lid on it, Casanova. What can I do for you, apart from be a test dummy for your awful pickup lines?”

“Ouch, you wound me.”  
  
“It ain’t me that’s been wounding your ego, Dean. What happened?”

Dean wasn’t even surprised that she knew.

“Myself. Look, I’m just calling to see if you’re free to chat with your favourite nut job today? I know it’s really last-minute so no worries if not, but I just wanted to–”

“I’m all booked up today, but say if you dropped into my office at one this afternoon with lunch from the deli, I suppose I can make an acception.”

 

***

 

At one on the dot with two sets of freshly made paninis and muffins, Dean knocked on Missouri’s office door.

“I swear I could smell those muffins all the way from the bakery,” Missouri said as a way of greeting him. “Come on in and take a seat.”  

It was amazing how much Dean could spill in forty minutes. His own food went untouched as he told Missouri all about Cas, from when they first met to their last encounter and all the screw ups in-between.

After Dean had finished his rant, Missouri stood up and walked to the window.

“Boy, your confidence is about as big as Thumbelina right now. Since you came to see me during lunch and seeing as I’m not gonna charge you for this session, I’m going to give you my thoughts more as your world-wise aunt than your therapist.” She turned to look at Dean and placed her hands on her hips, ready to scold. Dean froze in his chair.

“I hate to use such an overused idiom, but you’ve really made a mountain out of a molehill. I know how much you struggle to see the good in yourself, but trust me, this Cas guy ain’t wearing the same glasses as you are.”

Dean frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that your boy has got it bad for you. You just ain’t seeing the signs 'cause you’ve got your head buried in the ground.”

In all the time that he’s known Missouri, she’d never been wrong. Dean thought that perhaps he hadn’t explained his story right, or missed something vital off, because Cas couldn’t like him back. Dean’s luck wasn’t _that_ good.

“Missouri. This guy had to babysit me in my bed while I was hungover and my underwear. I waited for the guy _in a toga on my couch._ He saw me in my panties just a few hours ago. He’s so smart and too cultured for someone like me to keep him interested. I can’t see how he doesn’t think I’m anything other than a freak of nature.”

“Or maybe he just thinks you’re a freak in the sack.”

“W-what?” Dean spluttered, heat flooding his face.

“Quit acting like a goddamn prude and look at the facts. Think back to how he’s acted around you. Remember his body language, how you described it to me, the way he's always smiling when he's around you. I think this boy sees how bright your soul is and don’t give a shit about you not having something like a degree. Hell, from the sound of it, your smarts impressed him anyway.” Missouri flashed him a grin. “He also told you what time he got off work tomorrow, and if you can’t figure out what that means, then I have no hope for you.”

Dean was attempting to string a reply together when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

“You should read that text message, I think you’ll like it,” Missouri said, her mouth pulling into a smug smile.

“Can you stop doing that psychic shit? It freaks me out.”

“Then why would I ever stop?”  
  
Sighing, Dean pulled out his phone and read the message.

 

_“Hello Dean, it’s Castiel Novak. Thank you again for taking a look at my car, I promise to book it in soon. Maybe we could talk about it more tomorrow? I look forward to seeing what you will write in the comments box.”_

 

Dean’s jaw dropped. Missouri laughed.

“Just as I was saying. This boy is so gone. Don’t let your insecurities hold you back on this one.”

Dean nodded. But then again, it could just be a courtesy text message…

“And he ain’t texting you just to be polite either. Stop trying to find a loophole, you self-depreciating idiot.”

“Do you talk to all of your patients the way to do with me?”

“They wish they got this kind of treatment, Honey. Now text him back, and just enjoy getting to know him.” She walked over to her chair and sat down again. “Why don’t you invite him to do something with you? You can’t spend your life avoiding good things just ‘cause you’re scared of them.”

“I guess not,” he agreed. “But holy hell, I’m so crap at this dating thing.”

“I recommend you read _Dating for Dummies_ –”

“And I suggest you read _The Mystery Of Manners: What They Are And How To Get Them_ –”

“While your fictional non-fiction book sounds thrilling, I’ll take a pass. Now, my lunch break is almost over, Sugar. Go away and don’t come back until you’ve asked this boy out.”

Dean was booted out of Missouri’s office, phone clenched tight in his hand. He quickly made it back to his car and sat in the chair for a few minutes before he picked up the courage to text Cas back.

 

_Hey Cas, great to hear from you, man. And no sweat, it was good to get under that hood again. Kinda missed that beast. Sure, we can talk about it tomorrow if you want. You’re definitely getting off at 9, yeah? I can order pizza for two at around 8.30 tomorrow night and we can watch a film if you’ve got no plans?_

 

Dean had basically just asked Cas out on a date. He sat there for a full five minutes, debating over whether he should send the text or not, when his thumb decided to send it for him.

“No! Aw, fuck!” Dean yelled, whacking his palm on the steering wheel before feeling guilty for taking out his anger on his car. “Sorry Baby, I didn’t mean to hit you,” he said, rubbing where he just hit his car.

Dean was still holding his phone when it went off again.

 

_“Then it’s a good thing you won’t have to wait years to see it again. And I am definitely getting off at 9, your suggestion sounds perfect, though order one and I will bring another. I know what you like, I’ve seen your order history. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”_

 

Dean stared down at his phone in shock before a huge grin spread across his face. Was Cas flirting with him? His chest feeling like it was about to burst open. _This is actually happening,_ said a little voice in his head. _Cas likes you! He actually likes you!_

“Hah! Yeah! Wow, okay, yeah.” He text back.

 

_“It’s a date, then.”_

 

_“Perfect. See you then, Dean Winchester.”_

 

***

 

Dean drove back home on a high. He should probably have payed more attention to the road than he had done, but who could blame him? He had a date with Castiel Novak. Castiel. Friggin'. Novak. Everything else didn’t seem to matter right now.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much. He thought back to how crappy he was feeling this morning and found it hard to believe that this had all happened on the same day.

He walked straight up to his office when he got back home. It was definitely his favorite, and most secret, room in the entire house. The walls were decorated with retro car posters, shelves packed with books and art materials and a huge desk that was littered with car magazines and half-finished illustrations. He even had that famous picture of James Dean leaning on a car on the wall opposite his desk because, hey, a boy’s gotta have some eye-candy.

But right now, the only person Dean was interested in was the wonderful man who agreed to a date with him. He wanted to celebrate, call all his friends and let them know how amazing his day was going (perhaps omitting the part where he flashed his knickers to Cas, even if they appeared to work in his favor, or at least didn’t put the guy off), though he knew that they would all be at work and Sammy was at school. He would call them later, but for now, he wanted to grab his sketchbook and pencils and just ride this blissful wave for as long as he could.

Dean had invested in quality pencils a few years ago. He had a set of gorgeous Rotring mechanical pencils that had cost a bomb, fineline markers, alcohol-based markers and a huge collection of other pencils that he stored in pots on his wall. He never sharpened with a normal sharpener, preferring to use a craft knife to shape the pencils into a perfect point. He usually sharpened these before he got started, but today he grabbed his mechanical pencils, a fresh sheet of paper and set about with a new design.

Designing a car from scratch took a lot of preparation. Dean would fill books with sketches and notes, thinking up and drawing ideas before getting a feel for what it would eventually look like, and how it would function. But after today, Dean was pumped full of inspiration and set to work on a new car idea that was forming in his head.

Hours later, even Dean was impressed with his own creativity. He had a rough concept of a brand-new car, one with an engine and exhaust system that was so eco-friendly it would put a Prius to shame, and he had no idea how he’d managed to come up with it. He was amazed by how everything just seemed to flow, how this happiness seemed to tap into his skills and increase them tenfold.

Just as Dean was about to write some notes in the margin of his notepad, his phone rang. He saw Charlie on the caller I.D and swiped to answer.

“Charlie!”

“Wow, you sound far too happy. What happened?”

Dean sat up and started to pace his office. “Only the best thing _ever_ , Charlie.”

“Did you win a lifetime supply of pie?”

“I wish, but right now I wouldn’t call that the best thing ever after what happened to me.”  
  
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “Oh my _god_ ,” Charlie breathed. “You and Cas. You must have finally asked him out. Am I right? I’m right. Tell me I’m right right now.”

Dean gave in to a full body laugh, savoring this moment with his best friend. “Yeah, you’re right! So right, dude. I gotta date. You’re the first person I’ve told. He came into the workshop today, and after I accidentally showed him that I was wearing those panies –”

“Wait, _what?”_

“– and, okay, I had to leave work because I thought the humiliation was gonna kill me, but I went for a last-minute therapy session and he texted me outta the blue, and to cut a long story short, we’re having a date tomorrow night!”

“I… I can’t believe your life.”

“Come on, I know you’re happy for me really,” he teased.

Charlie huffed. “Happy for you? Dean, I’m _thrilled._ I’m honestly so excited for you, and if I’m being really honest, fucking relieved. I haven’t even met the guy and I couldn’t take the UST.”

“Hey, I haven’t been _that_ bad –”

“‘Oh Charlie,” she started, doing an imitation of Dean. “‘I've turned into a complete angst monkey ever since he came into my life and if I don't get his banana to rumble my jungle anytime soon I'm going to go ape shit!’”

“I never said that,” he argued. “I would never weave monkey puns into my rants. And I sound nothing like that…”

“But I was pretty close. Honestly, the melodrama was getting so bad I was scared you were gonna turn into an emo plucked straight out of 2005. I’d visit you one day to find you listening to My Chemical Romance, painting your nails black and offering me cookies that you’d already eated.”

“Okay, now who’s being melodramatic?”

“We’re both drama queens, this is why we work together. But anyway, going back to Cas. What are you doing for your date?”

“Nothing much. I’m ordering a pizza, he’s gonna deliver it plus another one, then we’re gonna eat them and watch a movie.” _Bliss._

“Wait,” Charlie said, sounding incredulous. “You’re having a date at _home_?”

“Yep.”

“Like you’re taking the man you’ve been obsessing over for what feels like forever to your living room and watching something on your couch?”

“Yes…”

“And you’re eating pizza from the place where he works?” Charlie snorted. “Wow, you’re so romantic.”

“Hey! Pizza and home is where it all happened. It’s how and where I met him. It’s our thing. A first date here makes sense.” He actually hadn’t thought about it in that way, but his bullshitting had made it clear to Dean. He wanted his date with Cas here.

But was Cas only going along with this because Dean had offered no other alternatives? Was he silently brooding away over how unthoughtful Dean had been?

_Shit._

“Fair enough,” Charlie said, cutting through Dean’s latest drama-fuelled thoughts. “I guess when you put it like that, it’s kinda cute.”

“For the last time, I ain’t cute.”

“Shut it, Cutie Pie. So, you’ve got a day to get yourself ready for your date. What you gonna do?”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean, ‘what am I gonna do’?”

“Come on, Winchester! You need to up the ante a bit, show him that you’re serious and excited and all that jazz. You know how I get ready for a hot date?”

“With an Orange Is The New Black binge and clipping your fingernails to stubs?”

Charlie laughed. “Hey, you don’t know how tragic it is if you’re trying to have sex with a girl and her nails are long. You get rubbed straight into Ouchville. Just no. But I would definitely agree about the Orange Is The New Black point. But for you, I would recommend watching Gladiator, seeing as you’re practically a Roman now–”

“How long are you gonna torture me over the toga thing?”

“Oh, that? Only for the rest of your life. Show Cas how much of an Emperor you are in the sack.”

“I should have known that was coming.”

“Oh, and you also might want to consider doing a bit of manscaping.”

Dean screwed his face up. “What the hell,” he said slowly, “is ‘manscaping’?” Dean stopped walking to sit down again. He felt like this upcoming conversation would advise against him from being vertical.

“Oh, it's like how a woman gets her body ready but it has to be called something else when it comes to men because the patriarchy sucks. It's just tidying yourself up. Trimming some hair from your crotch and ass, or getting rid of it altogether so you’re all silky –”

“ – smooth, real smooth, Winchester, you fell right into that and oh god I’m sorry I asked –”

“– to make you feel –”

“– dreadful, I’m not even expecting us to fuck on the first date so why would I need to be –”

“– prepared. Like nobody wants to be going down on somebody only to get hair stuck in their –”

“ – teeth, lips, tongue, jaw – stop moving them, just stop speaking. Enough! Jesus –”

“– Christ, I’m just trying to help your sorry ass. Don’t you want to look pretty in those panties, Dean? Actually, you should buy some new ones. I would tell you to get a pair that matches the color of his eyes, but since you already plan on being _so_ romantic with your promise of fast food and car crash TV, you might want to tone it down, you know?"

“Oh my god would you look at that, a thing has happened. A very bad thing. Oh no, now you’re breaking up –”

“Real mature, asshole,” Charlie huffed.

“I may be an asshole, but at least I ain’t talking about the hair on my asshole.”

“Whatever. If you decide to take your promise ring off and start getting real, take my advice to heart. Do some personal grooming, listen to your favorite tunes, have a beer and just relax.”

Dean squirmed in his chair. He wasn’t expecting to get down and dirty tomorrow night with Cas. He wanted to be a proper gentleman and get to know the guy before they started exchanging bodily fluids. But if the opportunity to let Cas fuck him arose?

He wouldn’t be able to turn him down. He wasn’t strong enough for that. He wanted Cas too much. So if they did end up having sex on the couch and Dean hadn't made an effort to tidy himself up...

Dean gave up. “Right, I can’t believe I’m about to ask you this, but how do I go about this whole ‘manscaping’ thing?” Dean bent down over his desk, hiding his face in the crook of his arm. 

He could imagine Charlie’s huge grin on the other end. “Oh Dean, I’m so glad you asked.”

 


	6. Date With Disaster

Dean was pretty sure that his infatuation with Cas was costing him most of his brain cells, and all of his dignity.

After writing down everything Charlie had told him about waxing, trimming, cleanliness and all that jazz, Dean’s face had been so heated it was bordering on Indiana Jones / Melty Face levels of hot. He read back over the notes he’d taken down from her and had vowed to burn them as soon as he was finished with them. No evidence of what had just taken place would be allowed to exist.

Charlie had given him the pros and cons for shaving and waxing, but ultimately they both agreed that waxing would give him the cleanest finish with minor irritation. Dean was surprising himself with how far he was willing to go to impress Cas, but even he had to draw the line somewhere, and potentially slicing off one of his balls or dealing with a horrific rash around his asshole was just too much.  

She had also advised him to do it today rather than tomorrow to let the redness cool down, which meant that Dean had to get his arse in gear.

Dean’s local store didn’t have any of those self-service checkouts, so he had to drive across town to a bigger chain that did so he could go shopping for the stuff he needed without getting caught. No way in hell was he gonna walk up to a cashier with loads of waxing gear, shaving cream and soothing gel and ever be able to shop there again. He’d tried to bribe Charlie to get the gear for him, but she told him that he was being stupid and he should buy it himself. She had tried to encourage him to go to a beauty store where they’d have more specialist products and care, but Dean had told her to ‘screw that’, because Dean Winchester doesn’t do beauty stores. This then got them arguing over his ‘toxic masculinity’ and how he was supposed to be getting better with it, to which he argued that waxing his arse was progress enough for today. Charlie relented.

Dean signed, procrastinating by doodling circles in the corner of the list.

He wasn’t getting out of this. He was just gonna have to drive to the store, get what he needed like some sort of waxing ninja, then get out of there like a bat out of hell.

Dean ripped the list out from the notebook and headed out.

 

***

 

Once he was at the store, Dean picked up a basket and shoved a few bags of chips in, hoping that they’d be big enough to hide what he really needed underneath them. Squaring his shoulders, Dean walked towards the toiletries section like he was going to his own funeral. Maybe he was.

Charlie had told Dean that all the grooming products would be in the women’s section. It wasn’t until he actually walked down the aisle that Dean began to felt like the biggest pervert to have ever walked the earth.

Pink. Rows and rows of fucking pink. Sanitary pads, tampons, deodorant, lotion, face wipes, fucking _tissues._ It was like taking a step into an adult Barbie Land.

Luckily the aisle wasn’t too busy. There were a couple of women down the opposite end of the aisle, so Dean walked down it slowly, eyes scanning the shelves until he found what section he needed.

The waxing section, like the rest of these goddamn products, was pink. Pink wax, with pink packaging, pink application wand, hell, a few of them even had pink paper strip things. Why the hell should that even be a thing? Why pink should have anything to do with how something functioned at all? Dean liked the colour and all, but really?

Being a girl looked like hard work. No wonder Charlie and Jo were always so angry with all this crap.

Dean was deciding if the wax in the light pink packaging would be better than the one with multi-tones of pink and purple, or if the one with streaks of green meant it was better than all the others. It made Dean’s head hurt for a few moments, and he forgot that he was supposed to feel self-conscious.

“Why is all this shit pink?” he muttered to himself, picking up the pink one and reading the blurb.

“Beats me, buddy.”

Startled, Dean whipped his head up.

A guy, a few years older than Dean bout around the same height, was standing next to him. He wasn’t an ugly dude, Dean decided, but he was taken aback a little by his eyebrows, which were so perfect most girls would probably cry over them.

“Y-yeah.”

The guy smiled, turning his attention back to the shelves. “This your first time buying waxing stuff?”

“Oh, no,” Dean said, then felt his face flush, realising his error. “I mean, no, this ain’t for me! I’m – I’m getting stuff for my girlfriend.”

The guy’s smile bloomed into a smirked. “Right, your ‘girlfriend’,” he repeated, obviously seeing through the lie. Dean shuffled awkwardly on the spot. “Well, if your ‘girlfriend’ has never waxed before, I’d recommend that one,” he said, pointing to the pink and purple package. “It’s recommended for sensitive skin, which will be better for first timers.”

“Huh.” He reached for the box. “Thanks, man.” Dean cleared his throat. “So, you… wax?”

"Yeah. Been at it for years now. I got into it when I started doing drag. Hairy legs and mini skirts don’t cut it for me, the punters, or my boyfriend.”

Dean had never spoken to a drag queen before. He was proud of himself that he wasn’t shocked, but interested. Hell, it must be really cool to have that kind of confidence.

“Huh. That makes sense, I guess.”

“You got any painkillers?” the guy pressed on. Dean shook his head. “I’d take a couple of paracetamol about thirty minutes before you, I mean she, starts. And get an exfoliator and just buff the areas you want to work on. It’ll help to make the waxing easier. Oh, and get some lotion, too. It’ll help after.”  
  
“Wow, dude, thank you. You’re like a waxing fairy godmother.”

“Well, this isn’t the first time I’ve been called that, though never for waxing. That’s a new one.”

“You’re welcome, man.” This dude was alright. Dean felt bad for lying to him. He cleared his throat and, pushing down his anxiety, he decided to come clean.

“Look, dude, I know that you know that I ain’t buying this stuff for some imaginary girl I got back home. You’re right. Uh, about me, and it being my first time. Er. Just wanna say thanks for the advice. Though if you hear someone scream bloody murder in the middle of the night, that’ll be me.”

The guy laughed as he picked up some pink thing (because of course it was pink), then started to back away, his eyes on Dean. “I’ll bear that in mind. And look, you’re not the first guy to go through this. You’re feeling embarrassed as hell, and a bit disgusted with yourself, right?” Dean nodded. “Well, I’ve been there too. You’ll learn to let it go in time, so just be kind to yourself on the journey there, okay?”

Dean snorted. “I take it back, you ain’t no fairy godmother. You’re like an agony aunt.”

The guy threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, I suppose I am. Anyway, I better go and see what my other half has gotten himself into. Take care, Doll.” And with one last smile, he walked off.

Dean was glad he’d bumped into the guy. He felt much better as he started dumping stuff into his basket.

He paid for the waxing kit, lotion, exfoliating brush, painkillers and chips, then left the feeling a lot lighter than he had entering it.

Dean got into his car and drove home, thinking along the way. This waxing wasn’t going to be too bad, and if it made him look hotter for Cas? All the better.

 

***

 

Bare as the day he was born, Dean walked into his bathroom, the jar of wax fresh out the microwave, then hit the ‘Play’ button on his laptop for Daredevil to start. He set the jar on the bath ledge, then took a step back to assess the situation.

The painkillers had been taken and his body had been buffed. Towels were laid out, as was the waxing kit. He was ready to go.

Admittedly, Dean hadn’t done what Charlie advised and looked up the best tips on how to wax. It was pretty basic, right? Just dump some wax on his body, add a little strip, then wait before ripping it off. And besides, there were a few instructions in the kit that he’d glanced over. If Dean could restore cars, he could get a few hairs off of his body.

Dean climbed into the bath and sat down on the edge. His legs weren’t that hairy and he had hardly anything on his chest, so he was gonna leave those alone. He probably didn’t have enough wax to do them anyway, so he just settled on doing his groin and snail trail.

Dean grabbed the little wand and loaded it with the pink wax, which was now far runnier that it had been when Dean first put it in the microwave. He brought it to the crease between his thigh and groin and ungracefully applied it to his skin.

Big mistake.

“OH GOD!”

Dean’s brain was going into meltdown along with his skin.

The wax was too fucking hot!

_Too hot too hot too hot I’m gonna die looking like a lobster oh Jesus FUCK –_

In his panic he knocked the wax all down his belly and legs, mercifully missing his dick, but causing him to scream nonetheless. He didn’t want to offer Cas the equivalent of burnt sausage.

In a desperate attempt to get rid of it, he started to scoop it up with hands, burning them too. He quickly grabbed the paper strips, stuck them on top of where the wax was and prayed to God that he wasn’t going to turn into Mr Krabbs after this was over.

Dean sat there, trying not to panic about his now burnt body. Instead let the wax in the jar cool down for a little bit before testing it with his pinkie. Deciding it was okay, he tentatively applied more to his crotch before adding the stips.

He was pretty sure he had missed loads of hair, but Dean’s fucks were crashing faster than the stocks of ‘28. What he had missed, he’d have to get with his razor.

His snail trail, bikini line, legs, arms and hands were covered in those little paper strips, with pink wax visible underneath them. But he had left one area until last, because he was a fucking wimp.

He stood up, reached backwards and spread his legs a little, determined to at least get rid of the hair on his arse, seeing as it was the one area he wanted Cas to particularly pay attention to. He applied the wax, added the strips, then waited.

He knew how much this was going to hurt and, like a baby, his eyes had already started to water. With a deep, shaky breath, he moved one hand to hold one of the strips, but stopped before he could rip it off.  

“Fuck, just man up, man,” he told himself. After a moment, Dean ripped.

Dean had grossly underestimated how painful this whole waxing business was going to be.

The pain was blinding. It was too much for Dean to even cry out.

Pulling out his arse hairs seemed to pull out the plugs in his tear ducts, as he started bawling like a baby right there in his bath.

_Fuck, could I get any more pathetic?_

In a state of shock, Dean brought the strip up to his eye-level. A few brown hairs were trapped in the now hard pink wax.

Who invented waxing, and how could Dean kill them? Screw regular torture methods, the FBI should be getting shares in this shit. Got a terrorist? Pour molten wax all over his dick and let Chuck Norris rip the strips off.

Dean decided. Wax should be for candles, and for candles only.

How did women do this? Dean figured that women must be a superior species to deal with this shit.

But coming to the realisation that women were probably superheroes wouldn’t help him with removing the hair on his body. No, Dean had come to the realisation that he was so, so screwed, and that he may possibly never forgive Charlie for persuading him to do this. His eyes were watering so badly that he could barely make out the show that was still playing on his laptop, but he tried to concentrate on that rather than on finishing the job.

_Rip–_

“AH!”

_Rip–_

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck –”

_Rip–_

“Oh God why?”

_Rip–_

“Charlie, you are so dead!”

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later and Dean was still nowhere near getting the strips off. He body was on fire, absolutely exhausted, and he couldn’t even sit down because his arse hurt too much, and not even in the good way.

Just when he thought his night couldn’t get any worse, Dean heard the sound of his front door open, followed by a voice he’d know anywhere.

“Dean?”

“Sam?!” Dean screeched.

“You upstairs?” Before Dean could reply, Sammy was bounding up the stairs.

“Uh, yeah! I’m – taking a dump.”

“Ew, too much information, Dude,” Sam said, right outside the door. “I got this project to finish, but Bobby’s internet’s down. Mind if I stay the night here to finish it?”

No. Oh, no. Sammy couldn’t be here right now. He couldn’t risk Sam seeing Dean like this, buck naked, wax and paper strips glued to his flesh, bright red burns blossoming all over his pale skin. He looked like a fucked up dalmatian.

Apparently Dean had taken too long to answer. “You okay in there, Dean? I mean, I unfortunately know your shit and this place smells like flowers…”  
  
“Well, what can I say? My shit smells like roses. I’m amazing.” _And a complete fucking idiot._

“Dean.”

Oh no, it was _that_ voice. Sam knew that Dean was lying to him, and he wasn’t going to back away until he knew the truth like the nerd he was.

“Honestly Sam, just go away. I’ll be out in a bit. Just go downstairs and plug your headphones in –”

“And why on earth would I do that?”

“Er… To relax to? Play some Mozart or some shit and write about metaphors or whatever the hell it is that you need to do.”

Sam didn’t even give him any warning. He opened the door and marched right in.

Dean wasn’t sure if the yelp came from him or Sammy. It might have come from both.

“HOLY SHIT, SAM!”  
  
“Oh God what have you done?!”

They started shouting at each other, Dean still buck naked and neither of them making any sense, only loud noises of anger and humiliation coming out of their mouths.

“Just calm down, Dean! Shut up and tell me what happened!”

“Fuck you, Sam! You ever heard of privacy? You are officially banned from, like, my life –”

“Dean, your body is covered in burns and wax! What the hell?”

“I can explain –”

“– You look like you auditioned to be a part of the Jackass team and didn’t make the cut,” Sam said, his eyes wide as saucers as he took in Dean’s blotchy body.

“I tried to wax my body, okay Sam! Is that such a crime? I tried it, I made a horrific mistake, and that’s that.” Dean remembered that he was still completely naked, so he moved his hands to cover his cock.

“But _why?”_

“Because I have a date tomorrow night with Cas and wanted to look the part, you nosey little fucker!”

Sam banged his head against the door. “Ugh, why do I do this to myself, make you tell me things that I will never be able to ever fully repress no matter how much I want to?”

In an instant, Dean came to a horrific conclusion. One that was probably going to send them both to a mental asylum, but it needed to be done.

“Can you stop standing there looking at me like I just pissed all over your homemade cupcakes –”

“ _How_ do you even end up in these situations?! I’m never going to recover from this –”

“Sam –”  
  
“You bought any bleach from your trip to the beauty store? Because my eyes need to be cleansed –”

 _“Sam!_ ” Dean shouted. Sam jumped. “Just – just shut up and help me out here, Dude! Get these Satan strips off me!”

“I don’t know what to do, Dean! I don’t have any,” he waved his hands at the waxing products, “training!”

“Dude, it ain’t hard, you just have to rip like you mean it and, if I pass out, rip 'em out faster so I don't feel it.”

“Oh, trust me, the only thing I’m grateful for right now is that _it_ is indeed not hard –”

“Dude, if I managed an erection right now, it would be more miraculous than the birth of baby Jesus. Now, are you gonna help me out or what?”

Sam rubbed his hands over his face before moving them away and moving them as he spoke. “Okay. Okay! God. Okay.”  
  
“Sammy!”

“Fuck, Dean! Give me a minute. Right, so is the wax just here, or…”

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes. “And my, uh, arse –”

“No way! No, I don’t care, no way am I going to be ripping any hair from your arse, Dean! We’re close, but we’re not _that_ fucking close.”

“Look, I’ll deal with that, okay? But I need you to get my stomach, arms and legs.”

Sam was quiet for a few seconds before sighing. He took off his jacket and flannel shirt, then grabbed a towel and passed it to a grateful Dean, who tied it around his hips.

“Oh god, you’re so paying for a round of therapy after this, Dean.”

“Whatever! Just get started.”

Sam looked like he was gonna hurl, and Dean wasn’t doing any better, his breaths coming out hard and fast. He grabbed one of the strips that was on Dean’s stomach and pulled.

It didn’t come off, but it hurt like a bitch all the same. It made his body jerk, knocking Sam back onto his arse.

“Ugh, Dean! You jerk,” Sam whined.

“Bitch.”

Sam didn’t move from the floor, looking around the dodgy lino in defeat. “Look, Dean, I can’t do this. I don’t know how to deal with removing waxing strips that are currently supposed to be removing the hair on my brother’s hairy butt!”  
  
“Oh. My. God. Shut up. Just –” Dean’s brain had a moment of revelation. “Call Charlie! Get her over here right now! She got me into this mess, she can get me out of it. I need to get these fuckers off me!”

Sam nodded hard, the look of relief on his face so strong that Dean almost laughed.

“Thank god. Yeah, okay, let me just grab my phone and, uh, we’ll get you sorted, Dean. Don’t move!” And with that, Sam jumped up ran out of the bathroom.

Dean banged his head against the tiles as he heard Sam’s footfalls on the stairs.

His skin on his stomach was actually lava. He needed to get under the shower and let some cold water sooth his skin or he was actually gonna die. Dean made an attempt to leave the bathtub in order to fetch his boxers to wear as he showered, but he never made it.

Dean slipped on the bathmat and tripped over the edge of the bath, his head hitting the sink with a sickening thud.

Dean felt his left arm crumple beneath him, followed by a bright flash of hot pain. His vision started to dim.

 _“Dean!”_ he thought he heard someone shout through the fog, before everything faded to black.  

 


	7. Hospital Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one sitting, so sorry in advance for any mistakes. But I just had to get this chapter out!

A beeping sound was going off in Dean’s ear. Annoyed, he opened eyes to try and find out where the noise was coming from, before his senses were assaulted.

The room was too bright and it was moving too fast. Everything was too loud, the beeping sound, hell, even the sound of his own breathing. He couldn’t move his arm.

“Dean?”

He couldn’t move his arm.

“Dean!”

He tilted his head to the side and promptly threw up.

“Can we get a doctor in here?!”

It was too much. Dean went under.

 

***

 

The second time he woke up, things were better, but he still felt like he had lost four rounds with Mike Tyson before having his skin rubbed down with sandpaper. The room was dark under his eyelids though, and the noise was better, which was working wonders for his nausea. His left arm felt bulky and he couldn’t move it –

“Dean?”

Dean tilted his head towards where Sam’s hushed voice had come from. He didn’t want to open his eyes just yet, but he did urgently need a drink.

“Sam. Water.”

“Yeah, okay.” He heard Sam’s usually clumsy footsteps quietly move closer to the bed, heard the soft rush of water as it filled a cup. “I’ll bring it up to your lips, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Dean took a few sips before Sam took it away. “Slowly, Dean. You might vomit all over yourself again.”

“Bite me, bitch.”

Sam chuckled. “Well, it’s good that you’re starting to sound like your old self again, though I better get the doctor.”

“Sam,” Dean said tiredly. “What happened? How long’ve I been here for?”  
  
Sam took the cup away from his lips and shuffled back into his chair.

“You’ve been here for quite a while. It’s, uh,” Sam checked his phone. “Quarter-past ten in the morning. Friday morning, that is.”

Dean balked.

“And as for the rest of it. Well, after I told you not to move, you of course moved and fell out of the bath. You hit your head against your sink and got a fracture, gave yourself one heck of a concussion, then you put all of your weight on your left arm and broke one of the bones in it. I ran upstairs to find you passed out, blood coming out of your head and getting all over the floor, and butt naked to boot. Don’t worry, I covered your butt before the ambulance arrived.”

Well. Shit.

“Wow.”

“Mmm. And you've got first degree burns everywhere, so you've been covered in creams and look like an oily fish. Oh, and by the way, you might want to run away to Mexico, or else Bobby's gonna have your hide.”

Dean cringed, and slowly opened his eyes to look at Sam for the first time, who sighed in relief as he made eye contact with Dean. “Is this about the, uh.” _Deep breath._ “The waxing thing?”

Sam snorted. “You know that Bobby doesn’t give a shit about that. He was just pissed that you didn’t call him, and that you hurt yourself. You know how he gets. Like a bulldog on the outside, but on the inside he’s all kitten.”

“Great. He’s gonna hunt me down and mount my head on his trophy wall.”

“He doesn’t have a trophy wall, Dean.”

“Not yet I don’t.”

Dean sighed. “Hey, Bobby.”

He heard Bobby walk over slowly. “Hey, yourself. How you holding up, kid?”

Dean snorted, which hurt his head and made him cringe. “Oh, you know, just peachy. See any hot nurses on your way over here?”

Bobby’s eyes hardened. “The only thing you’re gonna see is my boot kicking your behind if you don’t tell me what on _earth_ is going on with you, son. Jesus Dean, you broke your bones whilst trying to wax yourself, and what for?” Bobby looked around the room, like the answers he needed would just magically write themselves on the walls. “As soon as we get a doc in here to check your sorry ass over, you’re tellin’ me everything.” He smirked. “It ain’t like you can go anywhere, after all.”

Dean closed his eyes. He was in for one hell of a morning.

 

***

 

Half an hour later, Sam and Dean were by themselves in the room again. The doctors wanted to keep Dean in the hospital for a bit longer, which sucked, but at least Sammy was there for the ride with him.

The conversation with Bobby had been awkward as hell. How do you tell someone who is essentially your father that you’ve been a complete wreck all week because you can’t hold it together because of some guy you’d only met a few times?

How do you explain to your dad that you met someone who, despite all the stupid shit you get yourself into over them, makes you feel like you’re flying and falling all at the same time? How do you tell your dad that as soon as you saw this guy, it was like finding a missing jigsaw piece that just slotted perfectly into place in your broken puzzle?

How did you tell someone that you think you might have found _the_ person, and the fear of losing them made you feel like a child all over again?

Dean didn't go off on a tangent talking to Bobby. He told him the story in a way that would hopefully leave him with minimal scarring, from the state he was in when he first met Cas right down to why he was the reason Dean thought he’d give the whole ‘manscaping’ thing a go.

Bobby had been silent for a while, setting Dean’s anxiety off to new levels, before he spoke.

“Well. At least you didn’t cut your ballsack and end up neutering yourself, because I think that would’ve upset Cas even more than all those burnt, bald patches you got going on.” He then stood up, left the room, before laughing so hard that Dean suspected he had to lean against the wall, as his laughs didn’t fade away for a few minutes.

Dean and Sam sat there dumbfounded as Bobby absolutely lost it outside his room.

Bobby came in a little bit later, face as red as Dean felt, and wiped moisture out of his eyes. “Jesus, I really shouldn't laugh. Dean, I would say never change, but in this case, please change just a little bit so you don’t keep on doing stupid shit that’ll end up killin’ you one of these days, okay?” Dean nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

“Good. Well then. Seeing as you’re gonna be an invalid for a while, it’ll probably be best if you spent the weekend at home so Sammy and I can watch over you.”

“Yessir.”

Bobby nodded. “Well, now I know you're okay, I'll be back for you later on. Sam, you okay to stay here with Numb Nuts?”

Sam laughed. “Yeah Bobby, I’ll be fine.”

“Good, see you boys in a bit. Oh, and Sam? There’s a small store ‘round the corner in this hospital and they have a toiletries section. Whatever you do, make sure Dean don’t escape to go and satisfy his need to buy shaving foam –”  
  
“Wow Bobby, I didn’t know you were a comedian,” Dean piped up.

“And I didn’t know you were so stupid, but I guess we’re both discovering new things about ourselves today, hey eejit?” And with that, Bobby left the room.

After a few minutes, Dean spoke up.

“Hey Sammy? What happened to the rest of the waxing strips?”

Sam threw Dean one of his bitch faces. “After you were brought in, the nurse decided to finish off the job for you. Apparently you hadn’t trimmed your hair down and that was why it wasn’t coming off properly, because they were too long. She had to cut underneath the strips and shave you. Sorry bro, but you’re gonna have some nice razor rash to deal with too.”

Dean was too tired to even care right now.

Sam, being the smart kid that he was, had picked up Dean’s phone from the house before they’d left. He started to read through his texts as a distraction.

 

Gabe:

_“‘Wax’ this all about you being in hospital? Did Charlie finally ‘tear’ you a new one? I’m really ‘stripped’ on information here, I’ve only had the ‘bare’ essentials.”_

 

Jo:

_“Are you okay? Tell me what happened as soon as you feel up to it.”_

 

Charlie:

_“For fuck’s sake, Dean. You better not blame this on me.”_

 

Benny:

_“Hey brother, heard you wound up in hospital. Hope you’re ok, and ain’t been getting into trouble.”_

 

Dean, exhausted after everything, didn’t reply to any of them. Instead, he went to sleep.

 

***

 

Dean woke up to someone gently shaking his shoulder.

“Dean. Dean?”

“ _Uuugh,_ piss off, Sammy.”

The bastard carried on. “Think you might wanna wake up for this, Dude.”

Begrudgingly, Dean opened his eyes to see Sam leaning over him, a big smile on his dorky face. “You got a visitor!”

“If it’s Charlie, tell her that she is no longer my fellow amigo.”

Sam shook his head. “No, I asked for this visitor to come over. I remembered that you were supposed to have a date with Cas tonight –”

Jesus Fuck – his _date!_

Dean hadn’t even let the guy know that he was in hospital, and now he was going to miss what was probably the most important first date (and he’d hoped the last first date) of his entire life. And he’d had to go and screw it up completely by knocking himself out on his own friggin’ sink like a total amaeture!

“Dean, shut your poisonous thoughts up and just listen to me! I took your phone and called Cas, explained that you’re in the hospital, and now he’s here to see you.”

Dean’s face drained. “Sammy,” he whispered. “What have you done?”

Sam had the nerve to _smile_ at him. “I, Dean, have arranged your first date for you. Apparently you were gonna have your first date at your house? Well, at least a hospital room is really memorable.” Sam moved quickly before Dean could get him.

“Sammy! No, fuck, no, I can’t let him see me like this. Have you seen him? He’s like some friggin’ _god_ , and what the fuck do I look like?”

“Like an idiot who tried to wax himself for his soon-to-be new boyfriend, but it kinda looks good on you.”

“Sammy –”

“Kind of endearing, actually.”

“You are so dead, and nobody will ever be able to find your body once I’m done with you, you little –”

“Well once you can walk without throwing up, be my guest. Now, you have a visitor, and it’s rude to keep him waiting. I’ll be in the cafe if you need me. I’ll be there for about an hour –”

“An hour?!”

“I’ve got a report to finish, you know, the one I was supposed to do last night instead of getting your sorry arse to hospital.” Sam’s smile was wicked. “Have fun, Dean!”

“Is this revenge for me asking you to wax my arse?”

“It might be.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“Love you too, Dear!” And with that, Sam was gone.

Dean took in a huge gulp of breath and held it in his chest as the door opened again.

There was Cas, standing on the threshold, looking as artfully dishevelled and lovely as ever.

In his hands was a pizza box.

Something inside Dean broke.

“Hello, Dean.” He walked into the room. “Do you mind if I…?” He nodded towards the now empty chair.

Dean shook his head. Cas walked over and sat down, putting the box on the bed near Dean’s covered feet. For a few moments, they just stared at each other.

Dean was sure that, if given the opportunity, he would never not be amazed by the brilliant blue of Cas’ eyes. They were the cool balm that his burnt body needed.

There was a softness in Cas’ eyes that assured Dean, that cast away any of his worries.

How could he have missed the way Cas looked at him?

“You ain’t Janice,” Dean eventually said.

Cas’ face transformed when he laughed. Dean was now incredibly grateful that his nosy little brother had called Cas, no matter how awful he might look right now.

“No, she was busy with something else,” Cas teased. “Do you need me to get you a glass of water?”

Dean smiled. “Nah, I’m good this time. But the pizza, though? Dude, you’re literally my favorite dude right now. Hospital food sucks.”

Cas worried the edge of the bedsheet. “Well, we were supposed to go on a date tonight. I figured that we could still have the pizza.”

Having it confirmed by text was one thing, but it was a completely different ballgame to have it confirmed straight from the horse’s mouth.

“Jesus, Cas. I’m so sorry about our night. I was really looking forward to just spending some time with you, getting to know you, you know?.”

Slowly, like he was frightened of scaring Dean off or something, Cas reached out for Dean’s good hand between both of his. It felt good. Too good.

“I know. But we can still spend time together.” They shared another long, excruciatingly wonderful moment between them before Cas spoke again, this time to lighten the mood.

“So tell me, seen any hot nurses around here yet?”  
  
“Nah, the nurses are all ugly, man. Not even any Doctor Sexy's in this dump. But the visitors are quite hot.”  
  
“Hmm, are they now?”  
  
“Yeah, well, just this one. He’s alright, I guess.”  

Cas leaned forward until he was closer to Dean than he’d ever been before. He could feel his sweet breath on his lips, could taste the mint on every exhale, and he ached with how much he wanted him. It would have been difficult to drag him by his shirt with only one hand, but god damnit, Dean would find a way.

“I think you must have hit your head pretty hard. There’s only one beautiful person in this hospital, and he is most definitely a patient.” Cas sat back up, his hands still holding onto Dean’s, rubbing smooth circles into the back of it.

Dean’s heart felt like it was going to jump out of his throat. Thank god he wasn’t wearing a heart monitor of this would have been a whole new level of humiliation for Dean.

Too overwhelmed to speak, Cas continued. “So, apparently you fell out of a bath?”

_No, go back! Reverse!_

“Can we go back to the part where you were callin’ me beautiful? I think that's a topic you need to explore.” _Were you going to kiss me, Cas? Because I want you to kiss me. I might go mad with it. Kiss me now, damn it!_

Cas’s hands tightened around Dean’s. “Don’t worry, I most certainly will. But I do want to know what happened to you, Dean.”

Dean sighed. Here we fucking go.

 

***

 

Dean decided on not tell Cas about _why_ he was waxing, or that because the thought of them fucking on the first date was what inspired him to brutally get rid of his own body hair. Only that he gave it a go and it had failed.

No biggie. Nothing to see here. Totally forgettable. Moving on. 

Cas could sense the unease rolling off Dean in waves, so he decided to steer the conversation onwards. Dean felt a huge wave of affection wash over him for doing that, for wanting to make this whole thing easier on Dean. 

They ate pizza and talked to each other. They talked about Dean’s love of design and writing, Cas’s attempts at baking and the rude customer he had to deal with last night. Everything and nothing, and it was glorious. Dean felt spoilt under his attention, revelled in the feeling of Cas caressing his hand between his for no other reason than because he wanted to.

Cas told him about his professors and fellow classmates, and Dean told him about his friends.

“And then there’s Gabriel Evans, who we all hate to love. Short little dude, likes candy and pranking people in that order, and is generally a bag of dicks. Had a cousin move closer to him not too long ago but we ain’t seen the dude, guess he even scares off his own family members. And, man, he’s been giving me a loada crap over...this...”

Dean trailed off at the look of pure shock on Cas’ face. His usually tan face was pale, and his mouth was hanging open.

“Cas? You okay?”

Cas opened and closed his mouth for a few times before speaking. “Dean?”

“What is it, Cas?”

“Gabriel Evans. Short guy, dark blonde hair, shifty little hazel eyes?”  
  
Dean was speechless. He nodded.

“I know Gabe, Dean, because I’m the cousin that moved down here. I…”

They both sat, staring at each other, when there was a knock at the door.

Damnit, Sammy!

“Hey guys, everything okay?” He stepped forward, unsure if he was welcome or not. His eyes caught their hands linked together, and he smiled. “Sorry, I’ll just leave.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said, halting him from leaving. “We got a situation.”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“Apparently, my cousin Gabriel has been keeping secrets,” Cas supplied.

Sam’s jaw dropped.

“Dude, it’s like we’re living in a soap opera!” Dean cheered, shaking Cas’s arm.

“Indeed. I can’t believe Gabe. I told him all about you, and he never let on.”

“Same here, man. And, aw heck, it’s worse on my end because he’s your family. Ugh, this is so weird.”

Cas smirked. “Oh? Exactly what were you saying about me, Dean?”

“Yeah I’m leaving before this gets gross, I’ve learnt my lesson, I’m out.” Sam all but bolted out of the room.

Both boys chuckled for a few seconds, before returning to their currently problem.

“So,” Dean began. “Gabriel thinks he’s been playing matchmaker. What do you think we outta do?”  
  
Cas looked at Dean, tilting his head to the side in an adorable way. “I think you know what we need to do,” Cas said.

Dean smirked. “We need to get him back.”

Cas nodded. “But later, after you're better. I want to spend some time with you before spilling the beans, as it were.”

“Oh yeah? Spend time doing what?”  
  
Cas was suddenly in his space again. “Like getting to know your mind,” he said gently, his fingertips barely brushing over the non-damaged side of his head. They moved downwards until his fingertips were resting at the corner of his mouth. “And getting to know your skin.”

Dean was about to go into cardiac arrest when another knock sounded at the door.

“Sammy, bad timing!”

“I'm not Sammy,” a female voice said. Cas leaned back, which was downright cruel, so they could see the pretty young nurse that had just come into the room.  
  
“I’m sorry sweetheart, but visiting hours are over.”

It was Castiel’s turned to look annoyed. “May I say goodbye?”

“Of course, handsome,” she said, throwing a wink at Castiel’s way.

Dean's jaw dropped. He was fuming, almost sick with jealousy. 

“Dean, may I remind you that I am gay, and very much interested in only one person right now?”

Damn, he must have been pretty obvious.

“Well what can I say? At least she can move and probably isn’t a total disaster when it comes to life, unlike me.”

Instead of speaking, Cas leant down and pressed his lips against Dean’s.

He was too shocked to kiss him back at first, before he sighed and all but melted into it, losing himself to the slow slide of their lips against each other, the way the stubble on Cas's jaw sparked against his own, catching on their overly sensitive lips. His good hand gripped Cas’ bicep, and he felt one of Cas’ hands curve under his jaw. 

It was better than anything Dean could have ever dreamed. This moment they were creating together was heaven.

Maybe being a disaster of a person wasn’t so bad. 

Just as it was heating up, Cas pulled away. Dean groaned in protest, which made Cas laugh. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do that, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t helped it. He laughed in disbelief. “Uh, dude, I totally get where you’re coming from. You had me as soon as I saw you standing there with that pizza.”

“Wow, you were pretty easy.”

“Again, yes. Only took us a week to get here, and I ain’t even ashamed. Life's too short and all that shit.” He sighed, looking down at his broken body. “Though maybe it would be a good idea to slow this horse down a bit. But we got time to do that again?” he said, staring at Cas' lips with hunger.  
  
Cas shook his head, quickly peppering Dean’s face with small kisses before pulling away entirely. “I’m sorry, Dean. I should get going. I don’t want you to get in trouble, and I fear that if I kiss you again I won't be able to stop, and you need to get better. I will text you later, okay?”  
  
For some stupid reason, Dean felt like his heart was breaking. God, he was turning into such a needy little bitch. 

But he couldn't help it. He didn’t want Cas to leave. What if he never came back?

“I will come and see you,” Cas assured him. “I’m definitely too selfish to deny myself of you for too long.” He smirked. “And we really need to find a way of getting back at Gabriel.”

“Don’t worry, Baby, we will.”

Around ten minutes after Cas left, he came up with the perfect ploy. He texted Cas his idea. 

Gabe was so going down.


	8. Cunning Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for taking forever with this story! I've had two months of one thing going wrong after the other. I've been so busy at work and my Macbook died which was a nightmare, so I was frantically saving to get a new one. Now I have my shiny new iMac, and I can finally get back to writing! I promise that the next chapter will be more smutty. Dean needs a bit o' loving after all the crap he's been through. Apologies for any grammatical errors, I have no beta and I wrote this in a hurry.

Dean had been feeling quite dizzy, but he wasn’t sure if it was down to his concussion or Cas. He really did have the best mouth, the best hands – the best of everything, really. Cas was also the best at agreeing to Dean’s evil schemes, and soon both boys had hatched a plan to get back at Gabriel through their texting.

The doctors were reluctant to send him home. Dean thought it was a load of bull, but after listening to the doctor of the dangers of concussion and stuff, Dean reluctantly agreed that a bit of extra attention wouldn’t hurt.

Sammy sat with Dean for a bit, looking smug as hell but thankfully not asking any questions over what just happened. Dean could tell that his little brother was getting bored, though, so he told him to go back to the cafe and work on his school stuff. Sam, fully prepared thanks to the overnight bag he’d packed earlier, pulled out a charger to juice up Dean’s dying phone, made sure he was comfortable, then left.

With Sammy gone, Dean had little to distract himself from overthinking about that glorious moment he’d shared with Cas. He was so excited to get out of here and start getting to know Cas, though he would have to go careful with the guy for the first couple of weeks or so.

Apart from that, the only other than that was affecting his good mood was that the same nurse who’d flirted with Cas was still fluttering about. He could hear the quick clip of her heels as they walked up and down the corridor.

He hoped she tripped.

Two hours after Sammy had left, and halfway through another Daredevil episode on his phone, there was another knock at the door. Before Dean could answer, the nurse came through.

“Hello, Mr Winchester,” she said, her eyes on her paperwork.

Dean stopped himself before he could roll his eyes. He could guess why she was being so formal now. “Nurse,” he said. _Wanna call me sweetheart too, or is that just reserved for Cas?_

She came over to his bed and started checking the gear, asking Dean a series of short questions about how he was feeling. Just as she was about to finish, she started talking again.

“So, who was your friend, the one who was in here earlier?”

 _In here? Of course he’d’ve been in here, it’s not like I’ve been anywhere else._ “Oh, you mean the tanned, dark-haired guy?”

“Yeah, the one with those gorgeous blue eyes,” she sighed, staring at the wall. “Wish I’d gotten a closer look at them.”

 _Back off, bitch_.

“That sucks. I, on the other hand, got a pretty good at look my boyfriend’s eyes before he kissed me goodbye. And lemme tell you lady, they’re so blue it’s unreal. Like looking at the friggin’ Mediterranean sea.”

The nurse froze. “Oh! Uh, I had no idea – well isn’t that nice? Lucky you.” The silence that followed was awkward as hell. “So you’re all good here. I’ll just go and let the doctor know that I think you’ll be okay to go home.”

“That’d be great, I really do wanna get out of here. Family and friends to see, boyfriend to smooch, pie to eat, etcetera.”

She gave Dean a pained smile before swiftly walking out the room. Dean reached over for his phone, chuckling to himself as he texted Cas.

 

_To: Cas_

_“The nurse who chucked you out came back to check up on me. Went on about wanting to look into your pretty blue eyes.”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“Oh really? And what did you say to that?”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“That I got a pretty good look at them just before my boyfriend kissed me.”_

 

It was only after Dean had sent the text that he realized that he and Cas hadn’t even talked about what to call each other yet. They’d only had their first kiss a few hours ago. Had Dean made this awkward before it had even started?

 

_From: Cas_

_“A good, true answer. And now she know’s you’re taken too, which I feel much better about.”_

 

The hot worry in his stomach quenched at Cas's words. 

 

_To: Cas_

_“Come on, we both know you’re the hot one in this duo. I have evidence and everything.”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“Fascinating, Sherlock. But what is the phrase? Pot calling the kettle black? You cannot call me hot without me telling you that I think you are beautiful.”_

 

Dean’s smile felt too big for his face. Guess he had nothing to worry about after all.

 

***

 

Just as the nurse had promised, the doctors came to Dean and declared him a free man later that night. They’d given him some stuff for his burns, and had been advised to come back to the hospital if he was feeling worse. Bobby and Sam came to pick him up, and Sam was radiating so much smugness from the backseat that Dean wished for the hospital again.

“So,” Sam started, leaning over to rest his forearms against the front chairs. “I’ve held back long enough, but now that you’re out, I can start my speech.”  
  
“Here we go,” Dean muttered under his breath, watching Bobby’s face crinkle with amusement.

“Your little catch-up with Cas went pretty well, didn’t it Dean?”  
  
“All this fishing and your technique is still dry."

“And by pretty well, I mean you totally kissed and became boyfriends. Because of me.”

“Whatever you say, Cupid.”

“I mean, if it weren’t for my intervention, you wouldn’t currently have the boyfriend of your dreams.”

“Or a headache.”

Bobby laughed, but Sam was undeterred. “So I guess this means you owe me big time for the amazing thing that I did for you.”

“Wow, how’d you get so modest?”

“I learnt from the best,” he said, flicking Dean’s ear.

“Hey! Stop that,” Dean hissed.

“Sam, be careful with this dumb porcelain doll, we don’t wanna send him back to A&E so soon,” Bobby warned.

“Sorry, Boss. Anyway, about me setting you and Cas up after your awful Extreme Makeover audition. I don’t expect my recognition to be too grand, just a dedication to me at your wedding, naming your firstborn after me, stuff like that.”

Dean was about to reply with something very rude to his darling little brother, but he stopped himself.

He needed Sam on his side if he and Cas were going to be successful about getting back at Gabriel. He was one of the key figures in the plan. He needed to butter him up in the only way Dean knew how.

“Sure, Bitch. But seeing as I’m not getting married or popping out sprogs anytime ever, how ‘bout I make you that curry thing you like?”

“You’ll make me saag paneer with new potatoes? Awesome! I mean, um, yes. I will take that as payment. For now.”

“Sweet. May need some help chopping the veg, though. And going to the store.”

“Fine, only because I don’t want to live in hospital this week. Though you still owe me for trying to get me to wax your junk.”

Bobby tried to hide his laughter behind a few poorly concealed coughs.

“Whatever, Samantha.”

“Are you happy, Dean? That’s all I wanna know,” Bobby said, cutting off whatever Sam was about to say.

“With Cas?” Sam made a few retching sounds behind him, obviously catching the dopey look that was on Dean’s face. “Hell yeah.”

 

***

 

Sam – despite his many flaws – was okay as brothers went. He helped Dean get settled on the couch while Bobby made them some late night snacks, throwing their old afghan around him and giving him the remote for the TV.  

“So, I’ll need to go back to your place to get you some clothes. Wanna give me a list of what you need?”

His skin was still sore and his broken arm was awkward as fuck to move around. He’d been advised against wearing tight clothing, so jogging bottoms and loose shirts would be his wardrobe for a while. Dean wrote down a quick list (silently praying to whatever God was out there for breaking his left arm and not his right), requesting said clothes, his laptop and charger, a sketchpad and pens, and the food that he’d recently bought.

Just because he was on a staycation at his old home didn’t mean that he was gonna let his precious food go to waste.

After they’d eaten, Sam went off and Dean and Bobby spoke about what the broken arm meant for his job.

Dean couldn’t work on the cars, so Bobby was going to him oversee paperwork as well as train up some of the newbies. Nothing too awful, and it was a darn sight better than sitting on his butt all day doing diddly squat, but still. He’d been looking forward to working on a few of the cars that were coming in over the next few weeks. At least he could still oversee the design work.

“Oh, and as your boss, I’m giving you a paid week off to recover –”

“Sweet!”

“– but on one condition.”

Dean hesitated. “And what would that be?”

Bobby stood up from the table, collecting their dirty dishes. “If it ain’t stubble, don’t touch it. Do not shave, wax, laser or attempt any other hair-removing torture methods. Got it, Genius?”

Dean rolled his eyes. The teasing was going to be so much worse that the toga thing.

“Alright, I promise. To be honest, if I see a waxing strip ever again, I’ll probably cry.” The stubble rash around his dick and arse had already put Dean off from ever trying to remove his hair ever again. Though his body looked like a broken patchwork of shiny, red skin and hair, which made him wish that all of it was gone.

Not exactly the body one wishes for when you’ve just entered a new relationship with the hottest guy ever.

“Alrighty, then. I now declare that the body hair removal prohibition is in full force.”

“Aw,” Dean muttered. “What a fucking shame.”

  


***

 

Dean usually loved his weekends, but after wasting half his Saturday laying around Bobby’s house feeling sorry for himself, putting up with his crappy wifi and even crappier TV, his brain was about to implode.

Sam had bitched about being Dean’s ‘personal slave’ and had retreated to his room, leaving Dean stranded on the sofa. He knew that he was venting his pain and frustrations out on his little brother, and he knew that he really should be nicer to him considering how he and Cas needed him for The Plan against Gabriel, but he’d apologise later and bribe Sam with kale or something.

Dean looked towards the stairs, sighed, then reached into his bag of chips and continued to stuff his face and watch ‘Say Yes To The Dress’ because it was the only thing on. And – worst of all – he was getting into it.

He could feel his eyes smarting at the emotional scenes, was forming opinions of the dress designs, and he couldn’t even be bothered to care right now. He had bigger things than turning into a teenage girl to worry about.

Here he was, hours after getting together with Cas, completely unable to do anything other than text him.

He couldn’t hop into his car and meet him after his shift, or drive to the university and take him out for dinner. Couldn’t wrap his arms around the guy without potentially whacking him over the head with his encased arm. Hell, even the sex would be awkward as fuck with the broken arm, and painful. Even the loose shirt he was wearing hurt his burns.

And not to mention that he would be far too embarrassed to take his shirt off and roll around in the sack with his body looking like a baboon’s arse. Not that that would stop him, of course. They’d just have to do it in the dark – that was romantic, right?

As a distraction, Dean got out his phone and set about replying back to his friend’s texts, as much as he didn’t want to. He was still feeling quite pissed off, and he knew their replies wouldn’t be sympathetic, even if they were worrying. He was bracing himself for an influx of teasing.

The only saving grace was that he and Cas had been texting all day, even if they made Dean ache for him even more.

Cas was currently at the college library working on his assignment. Dean felt like he was interrupting him, and even though he had assured Dean that he wasn’t being a distraction, he knew otherwise.

Dean’s phone went off again. He wiped his hand on his shirt before picking it up.

 

_From: Cas_

_“Are you still watching that wedding show?”_

 

Dean squirmed, his eyes flicking up to the TV and pack again.

 

_To: Cas_

_“No, I’m doing something totally productive and not degrading”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“Like practicing your acting skills?”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“Yeah yeah, okay, I’m still watching this goddamn show, Miss Marple. But all these dresses are fugly, man. I could sew together better crap than the potato sacks they’re wearing”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“That’s probably for the best. You do need to recover from all those horrific wax burns, after all.”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“You think you’re real funny, don’t you Hotshot?”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“On the contrary, I think that you are the one who is ‘real funny’. You could sketch some designs, you know. Can you draw?”_

 

Dean stared at the screen, torn. He didn’t want to keep anything from Cas, but drawing was something he’d always kept to himself. But if he was serious about Cas, serious about building trust with him, Dean would just have to stop being a little bitch and just tell him the truth.

He could panic later.

 

_To: Cas_

_“Yeah, I actually do sketch and design stuff, mostly cars though. Nothing major, it’s just a hobby. But maybe I could be a fashion designer. Tbh I’m feel very gay right now, I could just channel that creative homo energy”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“‘Creative homo energy?’”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“Can we forget I said that?”_

 

_From: Cas_

_"Oh my god"_

 

_From: Dean_

_"Please?"_

 

_From: Cas_

_“Nope”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“Aw, come on, man”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“Sorry, but no can do. You’re too entertaining, and I like to tease you”_

 

Dean shivered.

 

_From: Cas_

_“But anyway, I want to know more about your art. It doesn’t surprise me that you can draw. You are a very talented person, Dean.”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“I dunno about talented, man. But I do enjoy it, so I guess that’s all that matters.”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“I know artists can feel very protective of their work, so I understand if you say no, but I would love to see your designs at some point. I bet they’re wonderful”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“How can you go from being a tease to being all heartfelt and shit in the space of a few texts?”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“That’s just one of my many talents. I look forward to showing you more of them”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“Bad timing but I have to go now, a few students from my course are here for a study session, I will text you when it’s over”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“You’re gonna give me whiplash if you keep on going from sexy to smarty”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“I wanted the end of that text to rhyme so bad, but I was so wrong”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“Just so you’re aware, I am saving all of these texts”_

 

_To: Cas_

_“Shit”_

 

_From: Cas_

_“:)”_

 

That fucker won that round with a _smiley face_. Dean had to up his game.

 

***

 

Two hours later, Dean had moved on from dresses to Mythbusters. Blowing shit up was definitely making him feel more manly. Sam had finished his tantrum and was sitting with Dean on the couch with his laptop, pretending to read something on his laptop. 

He heard the door click open over the sound of the TV. Thinking nothing of it, Dean kept his eyes on the screen.

He should have listened to the footfalls – they were too light to be Bobby’s.

“Sam told me why you decided to pluck yourself like a Christmas turkey, you know.”

Dean jumped at the sound of Charlie’s voice. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking thoroughly pissed.

He glared at Sam, who sat there looking sheepish _._ “I’ll deal with you later,” he said to Sam, pointing a finger at him. He turned to Charlie, throwing her a big smile. “Charlie! My friend –”

“I got a text from you _hours_ after you decided to go all Wicked Witch Of The West and melt yourself with _wax._ A sodding text, Dean.”

“I was, er, busy.”

“And humiliated,” Sam staged-whispered.

“Yes, thank you Sam!” he hissed.

“You have some explaining to do, Dean. First of all: why the hell happened? Did you mistake molten wax for shower gel and fling yourself out of the tub for the hell of it?”

Dean bristled. “Can’t a guy just want to look good for a hot date?”

“Sure, you look hot all right. _Scalding_ hot.”

“Aw come on, Charlie. You’re the one that got me into this!”

Charlie narrowed her eyes. “I told you to do some research first, Dean! I told you the basics so you’d be able to work with it. I didn’t expect you to try and remove all your body hair, nor did I realize that you would rub wax into yourself like it was moisturizer–”

“– Actually, I accidentally knocked it down myself first before I added more. Just so you know.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“...Marginally? It did miss my dick, which is the most important thing.”

Charlie rolled her eyes and turned her back to Dean, running her hands through her hair.

“Look, Charlie, for what it’s worth, the whole thing wasn’t a complete disaster.”

She spun back around. “How wasn’t it a disaster, Dean? You broke your arm. You’re missing, like, seventy percent of your body hair, and you are burnt. Look at your arms, your hands! I don’t even wanna see what the rest of you looks like.”

“Nobody wants to see that even when he isn’t burnt,” Sam said.

Before Dean could deliver his comeback, Charlie started again.

“And second: you got together with Cas in the hospital and didn’t tell me? That’s major news, dude! Why didn’t you say something, even in your text? Why did Sam here have to let me know?”

Sam squirmed in his seat.

“Sam,” Dean started. “Who else did you tell?” 

He was looking at his hands. “Nobody except Charlie, Dean. I promise. I just got excited, and I was texting her, and it just came out. I’m sorry.”

Dean deflated. The Plan could still work. 

“That’s okay, Dude. Just glad you ain’t told Gabriel yet.”  
  
Charlie frowned. “Why? Sure, he’d probably tease the crap outta you, but why do you wanna keep it a secret from him?”

Dean smiled, looking between them both. “Can you guys keep a secret? Like, a big secret?”

Dean watched with amusement as their eyes went wide as saucers.

“Yes?” Charlie said. “Yeah, if it’s to do with Gabriel, I can keep a secret.”

Dean smiled, then turned to Sam, waiting for his answer.

There was a frown on his face. “Sure, I can keep a secret from Gabe. So, what is it?”

The grin on Dean’s face grew wider. “You know how he helped his cousin move into his new apartment a few weeks ago?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, went on and on about how smart and pretty and socially backwards he was and –” Charlie froze, realization painting her features. “Oh my god!”

“Oh my what?” Sam said.

“Cas is Gabriel’s cousin, and he knew that both of us were doin’ enough pining to fill a forest, but he didn’t say anything. Little dude knew exactly what he was doing.”

Sam looked shocked. “But – why would he keep this a secret? What’s in it for him?”

“A sick sense of enjoyment?” Charlie volunteered. “He’s always liked picking on people, and he wouldn’t stop at the chance to fool his cousin and friend and watch them get all angsty over their unrequited love for each other, especially after the toga incident. He loved that one so much he tried to sell the story to the local newspaper.”  
  
_"What!"_ Dean shouted. 

“It’s basically turned into one big episode of Big Brother for him, huh?” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat. “So, now’s actually a really good time to ask you guys for a big favour.” Dean paused, looking between them both who silently urged him to continue. “Me and Cas came up with a plan to get back at Gabriel, but I’m gonna need your help, especially from you, Sam.”

Sam looked confused. “Me?”

“Yep. You’re actually the key part to making this plan work. So, how about it? Want to help me and get back at all the times that he’s flirted with you and looked at your arse?”

Sam nodded. “God, yes. What do I need to do?”

“Yeah, come on Baldrick, tell us your cunning plan.”

Dean laughed. This was going to be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing the next chapter now, where Dean and Cas' evil plan against Gabriel is finally revealed!


End file.
